


Horseshoe Overlook

by KellynKupcake



Series: Reflections [8]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Domestic Assault (canon interactions), Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gaslighting, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mentions of Infant Death, Mild Gore, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Toxic Relationships, Unsolicited touching, canon interactions, domestic abuse, friendship fluff, graphic depictions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 65,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellynKupcake/pseuds/KellynKupcake
Summary: As the Van der Linde Gang settle in Horseshoe Overlook, John struggles with being injured and vulnerable. While Arthur is out working his ass off to save the gang, John adjusts to being on the sidelines. Abigail wants to help him but John is a little too sick of her icy attitude to let her. Their bickering turns outright toxic as they fight constantly about their past. John finds himself at a new low in his life. But with a little help from a friend and some outside intervention from their newest addition perhaps he can crawl himself back out of the grave he’s dug for himself.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston
Series: Reflections [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1196989
Comments: 30
Kudos: 11





	Horseshoe Overlook

**Author's Note:**

> LOTS of canon camp interactions in this story. As many as I could fit in. So if some of the dialogue feels a little bit off it's probably because it's not mine. Hosea saying "I know dear." over and over would not have been my first choice. 😂
> 
> Theoretically this story could be read as a stand alone but it is part of a series and there will be lots of context missing for you if you try to read it without at least glancing at the previous stories! 
> 
> It’s important to remember that these oneshots should be viewed as very long chapters in a larger story that spans throughout the entire Red Dead series. So if you were hoping for a resolution at the end of this story I’m sorry to disappoint! We definitely do get somewhere!! But we’re only in the first chapters of the prequel at this point! There’s still lots of canon to cover before John can get his resolution. 
> 
> **Quick Reminder:** Abigail isn't aware John has had sexual encounters with anyone but herself.

Horseshoe Overlook was a gorgeous place. The sight of the fog rolling over the river and into the valley below was breathtaking in the early morning.

The afternoon sun setting over the jagged mountains in the distance was a beautiful sight to behold.

Or so John had heard.

He hadn’t seen all that much of it as he had stumbled from the wagon to his tent. Shaking limbs clutching onto Charles’s steady shoulder as he limped across the grass to shelter. He had been glad to see the greenery, a welcome change from the bright white that was snow.

He hoped being surrounded by colour again would help to ease the nightmares. 

The shivering had finally stopped as they passed over Cumberland Falls. Although the cool air was still several degrees less than his body was used to. It was nothing compared to the bracing cold of the mountain side. 

The journey from Colter had been rough on his recovering body. He was a man that could gallop for as long as his horse would oblige without blinking at eye. But ten minutes in that damn wagon had his stomach in knots. 

He had crawled with clammy palms and shaking hands to the end of the wagon. Dangling his head over the side as he retched nothing more than bile over the sleet covered trail.

Abigail had stopped him from falling, holding him tight by the jacket and making sure he didn’t over balance before grunting as she used all her strength to drag him back a few inches so his head was once again lying against the splintered wood.

He had been grateful for her presence. Her comfort was much needed but overall he had wished she wasn’t there to witness him in such a state.

She had seen the worst of him in the last few days and he was ashamed to remember his own actions in the days that followed the attack.

He had soiled his own reputation during his drug-addled stupor. Not only in the eyes of Abigail, but the eyes of the entire Gang. They had all seen him at his worst now. Shivering and crying from the pain. Scared and overwhelmed with it all.

They had seen the side of himself that he worked to keep locked away. The side that he hadn’t truly let shine since he was a boy. He hated that part of himself passionately.

Hated being weak or showing his fragility.

The only person that hadn’t shown a lick of sympathy was Arthur. It was to be expected but that didn’t mean it stung any less. John was growing tired of the jokes at his expense. But something about the needling felt familiar to him and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed that right now. So he bought into it. Pretended to get offended for the sake of an argument. Letting off steam on someone that could take it instead of accidentally blowing up at an innocent that was trying to help him.

He started at the olive green of his canvas tent and swallowed dryly. He had pretty much been left alone since they had arrived here the morning before. If it wasn’t for Arthur dropping by to poke fun at him for lying around, he guessed he would have been alone for near 15 hours.

He was still sleeping a lot. His head felt cloudy and too much movement made him nauseous. So he laid alone on his cot, staring at the roof of his tent and wondering when someone would take pity on him. 

He felt like maybe he deserved the isolation for what he had done to Abigail before Blackwater. Throwing her and Jack out of his tent and making them fend for themselves. If he hadn’t done that, they would be sleeping in here with him instead of across camp. John hadn’t really been out of his tent to see the setup of the area yet. But he knew without looking that Abigail would have set herself up as far from him as she could out of spite.

His stomach rumbled and he groaned at the realisation he was starting to regain his appetite. The one thing he wished wouldn’t come back to him. Eating meant needing the latrine and the latrine meant asking someone for help.

He was thankful for the fact he was a man when the urge to piss struck him. He was able to move himself well enough to reach the chamber pot Abigail had left for him. But he wasn’t looking forward to asking for help with his other other bodily needs.

He sighed dramatically, letting his head loll to one side as he sulked over his new predicament. Even if he wanted to ask someone to bring him food he wasn’t sure his weak voice would carry far enough for anyone to hear him.

As if on cue Abigail appeared at the foot of his bed. He jumped slightly when he caught sight of her in his peripheries. Rushing to push himself up on his elbows and stopping abruptly as his stomach churned dangerously.

He covered his mouth with one hand, slowly lowering himself down so he was lying on his back once more. Abigail watched silently. Not making any move to help him as she waited for him to get settled.

He lifted his head slightly once the nausea passed, straining to see her. She took a step forwards, sitting next to him on the edge of his cot and holding up a bowl of food. John eyed it longingly, swallowing as he wondered how he was going to manoeuvre this.

“I…” He started, choking on his words and coughing abruptly. His voice was feeble and gravelly from disuse. He cleared his throat and shook his head to try and gather his thoughts. “I can’t sit up.” He said weakly.

Pathetically.

He thought to himself as embarrassment creeped in at how small he felt in that moment.

“Yes you can.” Abigail said matter-of-factly, gesturing towards him with the bowl of food and waiting patiently for him to take it. “Try.” She ordered, in the same tone she used when she was telling Jack what to do.

John frowned at her. Her attitude not helping.

Despite his ailment he felt a strong drive to prove her wrong. Rolling on to his side and using his elbow to push up his torso. His arm shook under his own weight. His face feeling hot and clammy at the same time due to the effort.

Abigail grabbed at his other arm with her free hand. Yanking him roughly into a sitting position and almost forcing the vomit out of him at the sudden movement. 

He glared at her once he got his bearings. Pulling his legs up and crossing them under himself as she handed him his stew.

“Eat.” She said simply, eyes locking on to his as he glowered her meekly.

He did as instructed. Screwing up his face as the salty liquid assaulted his taste buds and the nausea from earlier reared its ugly head. He swallowed hard against it, staring at the chunk of meat on his spoon before closing his eyes momentarily and shovelling it into his mouth.

He needed to eat, despite the sickness in his belly. It had been growling earlier. His body was begging for nourishment.

Abigail watched him in amusement but refrained from commenting. Eating her own food in silence.

As John finished the last few bites of his dinner Abigail finally took it upon herself to speak. Breaking the long standing silence as she held out her hand for his bowl.

He handed it to her, grunting at the effort.

“I’ll get someone to help you walk around tomorrow so you don’t get too stiff.” She said simply, taking his bowl and standing with one in each hand.

John watched her stand sadly, licking his lips as he contemplated his choices here. As glad as he was to be off the mountain and away from prying eyes, he was lonely in his tent. He wondered if she would stay with him for a while if he asked. But judging by the painful silence of their dinner he assumed the worst. Abigail frowned at his pensive face before turning to leave.

“Wait…” John called, holding out his hand to stop her although she had already walked far out of his reach. She turned back to him, her face neutral as she waited for him to speak.

“Will you… stay with me awhile?” He asked softly, grinding the words between his teeth as he forced them out. All dignity gone with the wind as he watched her face twist into an amused smirk.

“Well I would…” Abigail said slowly, pausing to make her point. “But I just don’t feel comfortable as this ain’t my tent.” She spat pointedly, making John’s face fall and his begin to boil.

“Really?” He asked simply, unsure how else to respond. He was shocked by her callousness in his time of need. It seemed that the memories he had hoped were morphine induced delusions were actually real.

The second they weren’t in the presence of others her demeanour towards him changed. She felt no obligation to him beyond keeping up her appearance in the eyes of the others.

Abigail stayed silent as he processed her words. Their meaning, her tone.

“You still ain’t forgiven me?” He asked eventually, looking away from her and focusing instead on his hands in his lap. “After all this?” he asked, gesturing towards his various bandages. “I nearly died Abigail.” he said angrily, looking up at her once again and for a second thinking perhaps he had seen a flicker of remorse on her face. 

He wondered if she would apologise. 

The silence between them was deafening as Abigail refused to look in his direction. Her brows knitted and lips pursed as she took in a deep breath and exhaled forcefully.

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again after a second, turning to face him and just staring blankly at him with emotionless eyes.

John’s own eyes turned cold at the blank stare on her face. Feelings of animosity rising to the surface as he scrunched his nose and looked away from her. He wasn’t sure why he had thought she might take pity on him. But he knew now that it wasn’t on the cards.

He didn’t deserve the way she was treating him. After what she did.

After everything she did.

He realised. The prostituting back in ’86 and the manipulation of his feelings for her before Blackwater. He knew logically she should be the one grovelling. But she had a way of making him feel guilt that he had no place feeling.

He shook his head slowly, staring at the grass beside his cot and sniffing derisively.

“Of course you ain’t care.” He said softly, venom in his voice as his sharp eyes flicked towards hers. “Should be you on your knees beggin’ my forgiveness, not the other way around.” He spat, broken lips stinging with the effort.

Abigail glared at him. Her knuckles white as her shaking hands threw the empty bowls aside. Remnants of their dinner sliding down the canvas wall of the tent and pooling in the grass. John flinched at her sudden movement, giving her pause.

This was the perfect opportunity to give him what for. To shout and scream the speech she had prepared and practised over and over in her head for weeks leading up to Blackwater.

But she couldn’t do it. She realised. Looking him over, feeling pity and guilt bubble in her chest as his sorry state.

She pursed her lips once more as she swallowed her pride and bit her tongue. Her brash display of anger had made more of a point than any words could in his moment.

John waited for the barrage. The inevitable screaming that would follow such a statement but it never came. Instead he watched her leave without a word. Feeling regret start to seep in as he realised he had fucked up any chance of her coming around.

He bit at his lip, ringing his hands together nervously to try and stop them shaking.

Despite his bid for privacy during his time at Colter, the last thing he wanted in the world right now was to be alone.

~~

  
Charles appeared outside his tent around mid-morning. John had already been awake for hours. Far too conscious for his liking after the days he had slept through at Colter.

He hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Tossing and turning. Aching and groaning. His body protesting every time he moved and yet he just could not seem to get comfortable.

Every time his eyes started to drift closed, he was assaulted by the memories of sharp eyes and pointy teeth. He swore he could hear them howling. Eyes flying open to stare at the canvas and assure himself quietly that he was safe.

Charles asked him how he was but that was the extent of the conversation. He had helped him out of bed and walked him around for a little bit. John feeling far too small clinging on to the larger man’s arms. Swallowing down vomit he refused to let out in front of the other man. He couldn’t take the indignity of a further show of weakness.

He wondered if Charles could sense his discomfort or if the other man had simply grown tired of walking him around like a toddler. Because it wasn’t long after John’s second shaky inhale that he was sat on a log in front of the fire and left to enjoy the sun.

His head swam somewhat as his muscles strained under his own weight. Feeling weak and lightheaded from sitting still. His body still getting used to moving again.

No one really spoke to him for all the time he had sat there. About half an hour he guessed just sitting and staring at the flames. The men had nodded as they’d passed by to grab a cup of coffee and the women smile sympathetically. Hosea had stopped for a moment to place a hand on John’s shoulder. A simple gesture that filled John’s heart with warmth. 

Made him feel loved.

Eventually he had started to tire. If that’s really what he could call it considering how weak he already was in general. He had glanced around him in the hopes of catching Charles’s attention but the man was nowhere to be found.

Instead he had locked eyes with a woman he did not recognise. He wondered how long she had been sitting across from him as her brown eyes met his. Long golden hair falling over her shoulders and complimenting a coat he recognised to be Abigail’s.

He frowned slightly, wondering who this woman was and why she was wearing Abigail’s things. The woman cocked a brow at him before looking away. John averted his eyes as well, not trusting his croaky voice and choosing to stay silent. 

He could see her out of the corner of his eyes. Glancing towards him every now and then before looking away just as quickly. He figured it was the scars on his face that kept her quiet. Who knew what to say to a man that had just found himself permanently disfigured?

He thanked the Lord when Charles returned. Asking him if he was ready to go back to his tent and despite the gnawing solitude John knew the green canvas to be safety and he readily accepted. Being hauled up once again and practically dragged back to his bed.

He was thoroughly exhausted from the exercise. Deciding silently that he wouldn’t try it again for another few days. Moving around was hard and in his mind, not worth the pain.

He hadn’t felt any more included or any less lonely in the time he’d spent out of his tent.

Charles left him on his bed and he’d spent the rest of the day alone. No one coming to see him for lunch. He figured there probably wasn’t much food to share around and if he was being honest he’d rather his portion go to Jack anyway. He was used to going hungry. 

Unlike the boy.

~~

It was dinner time when Abigail finally appeared at the opening to his tent. She had a can of vegetables and a spoon in hand. 

He wondered if she was still mad at him as she made her way to him silently. Sitting on the edge of his cot and handing him his food without speaking.

John looked at the cold can of food for a moment and then back to Abigail, opening his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“It’s all we have. Don’t complain.” She snapped, crossing her arms and looking from him to the can expectantly. 

John felt himself bristle at the assumption that he would ever complain about being fed. But he ignored his anger, swallowing it down for the greater good.

“Has the boy eaten?” John asked quietly, not looking up to see her reaction as the silence stretched between them.

“Yes.” Abigail admitted quietly.

John didn’t respond. Instead hooking his shaky fingers under the ring pull and opening the can. He placed his spoon inside and pulled out a pile of the mushy food. Grimacing briefly at the way it dripped juice back into the can before shoving it in his mouth and swallowing it down without complaint.

Abigail waited patiently for him to finish his meal before taking his trash and heading towards the door.

“Is there… anything else I can help you with?” She asked softly before she exited, catching John off guard. He looked up at her sadly, knowing better than to ask her for what he really wanted.

Her company.

“Could you…” He paused for a second, not sure how to ask. “Can you get me a mirror?” He asked, hand running absently over the stitches pulling his face into an uncomfortable position. “Please?” He added as she looked at him in surprise. 

“Okay.” She agreed gently, nodding as she turned the empty can in her hands. Thinking. “Tomorrow.” She whispered, giving him a slight smile before leaving him to his thoughts.

He sighed, staring down at his hands as he contemplated her answer.

Perhaps she knew that he wasn’t sleeping well already without knowing how ugly he was. Or maybe she didn’t care all that much and just didn’t want to deal with him again tonight.

Either way, she had seemed to suck the warmth out of his tent with her absence. 

~~

Abigail hadn’t made eye contact with him when she’d arrived in the morning. Handing him his bowl of breakfast and a shard of mirror wrapped in a cloth. She couldn’t afford a pocket mirror like Molly’s. But she didn’t have illusions of needing one. She’d gotten by just fine with that one shard of glass for many years.

She’d left the tent quickly. Somehow feeling a little uneasy about leaving John with an ugly, broken piece of mirror to admire his ugly, broken face with. 

Perhaps she should have stayed to see his reaction. Although she knew that if she were asked what she thought she would not be able to lie. It was probably best that she leave him to come to terms with his new face on his own.

Abigail had never been good at expressing her feelings. The scars were ugly yes. But that didn’t make John ugly. He was still as handsome as the day she’d met him and inside she knew she still loved him just as much. Even if she was still pissed off about the whole tent thing.

She sighed outwardly as she slumped down on a log by the fire. Taking the briefest of moments to place her head in her hands and rub at her temples. She wasn’t cut out for being a nursemaid. She didn’t have a bedside manner at all, let alone a good one. She knew John needed her. But she just couldn’t bring herself to be supportive no matter how hard she berated herself for her lack of compassion as she lay awake at night without sleeping.

“Perhaps he deserves better than me.” She mumbled to herself as she raised her head to stare into the dying flames. 

~~

Abigail had left John alone for almost an entire day. She wasn’t sure if someone else had brought him lunch or helped him use the bathroom. 

She wasn’t sure if anyone had checked on him at all.

She held her breath as she walked towards his tent. Subconsciously bracing herself for the worst as she pushed aside the door. Exhaling in relief as he looked to her from his place on the bed. Eyes darting towards her before looking back to the shard of mirror.

His face was unbandaged and looked to be incredibly sore. Abigail felt a pang in her heart at the sight of him. Wondering sadly if he had been staring at his face all day.

She moved inside properly, placing his dinner down on the chair next to his bed. She waited next to him, for him to look up at her. Speaking when she realised he wasn’t going to.

“We should probably put those bandages back on.” She said softly, gesturing towards the bloody mess of cloth laying in John’s lap. He hummed noncommittally. Not taking his eyes off his face. “Actually, I’ll… I’ll get you some new ones.” She said after a moment’s contemplation, making to exit the uncomfortable situation but stopping when he finally spoke.

“How do I look?” He asked as chipperly as he could manage. As if he was all dressed up for a party and was awaiting a compliment from his bride.

“Sad.” Abigail quipped quickly, intending for him to laugh.

He didn’t. Staying silent as he gazed at the mangled flesh staring back at him.

Abigail sighed, feeling bad for him. She supposed she wouldn’t be laughing either if it were her face that had been permanently disfigured.

“It’s not that bad.” She said lightly in an effort to make him feel better. Yet unable to look him in the eyes as she spoke.

John hummed in reply. His own eyes glued to the jagged scars.

A long silence stretched between them as John studied the new marks. His eyes flicking to her only briefly before returning to his face. She looked as though she wanted to say something.

“It’s okay…” He said softly, eyes unmoving from his cheek. “You can say it’s ugly.”

Abigail kept her mouth shut. Trying and failing to think of a way to express her feelings to him.

John finally pulled away from the mirror, letting it rest in his lap. He turned to face her, good eye staring her down as he waited for her to confirm his fears. 

Abigail stayed silent, staring at her hands and fiddling with her skirt as she thought of what to say. 

The scars were terrible.

Ugly.

But they didn’t make him ugly. They changed his face, but she still found him attractive against her better judgement. He could have half his face lopped off and she would still love him the same.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She said instead of answering him. Leaving the tent rather quickly and giving herself a chance to think without his insistent stare. 

She wanted to reassure him without being too forward. Telling him the scars were fine would sound like a blatant lie. But perhaps that was what he needed right now. Blind reassurance that he still looked fine despite the evidence to the contrary.

John watched her go, his bloodshot eye aching as tears welled to the surface. He pulled the mirror shard back to his face. Swallowing thickly as he stared at his ugly, muddy eyes and the tears struggling not to fall from them. He had always been ugly. Even uglier when he cried.

He took a calming breath. Screwing up his face and wincing against the pull of his stitches. He held fast against the urge to break down. Holding back with all his might to try and save a little of his dignity. He was a damn man. He didn’t need to be sobbing over his face as if being scratched up would make any difference to his situation.

It might.

He thought to himself. Choking back a sob as he thought of the way Abigail had looked at him at Colter. Hazy memories of her hovering over him with a look of disgust on her face. Probably under the impression that she could be as candid as she liked, and he wouldn’t remember.

He dropped the shard onto his bed. Rubbing at his good eye with one hand as he gently dabbed the bad one with the palm of his other. 

She already wasn’t happy with him. She didn’t want to love him. Maybe these damn scars would finally make her leave.

Who would want to marry a man with half his goddamn face missing.

John let his hands fall to his side as Abigail reappeared in front of him. Fresh bandages in hand as she stood in the doorway and looked him over with an expression he couldn’t discern. He looked away from her, staring at the bed until he heard her move closer. Watching her bottom half as she sat down on the edge of the cot in front of him.

“It’s really not that bad.” She said again softly, placing a hand on top of his for a moment before unwinding the bandage and asking him to stay still. 

John felt his lip trembling as she worked. Wrapping the bandage over his bad eye and over his cheek while he struggled not to keep crying. The last thing he needed was for his tears to keep the bandage wet. 

“Really?” He asked, voice soft as Abigail paused for a moment before continuing on in silence.

John inhaled a stuttered breath. He knew she was still mad at him about everything that happened before Blackwater. But if she truly loved him couldn’t she put it aside for a just minute. Just one moment of tenderness. Reassurance that he was still lovable. That’s all he wanted from her, but she gave him nothing.

It’s not that bad.

That’s all she could manage. Like that was supposed to help him feel better. 

It’s bad. But it’s not _that_ bad.

He thought bitterly. A frown forming on his face as Abigail tucked in the tail of the bandage.

Abigail took a deep breath. Fidgeting in her place as he looked to her in question. Glowering without meaning to. His emotions getting the best of him as he silently begged her to say something nice.

Anything.

“Listen.” She began, making him close his eyes in leu of rolling them. He braced himself for a lecture. His heart breaking. She must really hate him if she couldn't do him the one simple kindness of momentarily letting him off the hook for his wrongs and reassuring him, he was loved.

“Just go.” He spat dejectedly. Cutting her off and making her balk. 

“Excuse me?” She asked incredulously.

“You heard me.” John said quietly. Dangerously. “Get out of here.”

Abigail raised her brows in shock. Taking a moment to collect herself before letting her rage flow freely through her.

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at the pathetic lump in front of her and holding her tongue to keep from telling him what she really thought in that moment. Knowing full well it wouldn’t be worth it in the long run. She would regret it almost instantly and the damage would be irreparable.

“Are you serious right now?” She asked, her own tone dangerous. “After all I done for you?” She asked, making John scoff.

“You ain’t done shit!” He shouted, his heartbreak being replaced by anger at the prospect of Abigail feeling as though she had done anything for him at all other than sit with him in the wagon on the way there. 

Abigail tensed her jaw, snarling as she held back a slew of unkind words. She still wasn’t used to John talking to her like that. Not used to him having anything negative to say towards her. He had always been so sweet. Enamoured with her and ignoring anything she had to say that might have otherwise caused a fight. She wasn’t used to having to hold her tongue because she had never realised how hard he could bite until just recently.

She huffed out a breath through her nose. Looking him over and shaking her head before leaving him alone. Using much of her restraint to resist stomping right back in there and giving him a piece of her mind.

He had been through enough. He would be more grateful once he healed. 

John watched her go, knowing she wasn’t coming back any time soon. Tears spilling over as he brought the shard of mirror back to his face. Staring into his own eye and gasping softly as tried to control his breathing. Whimpers turned into sobs as he watched his own tears stream down his cheek and felt the bandage covering his stitches begin to grow tacky.

He thought he was fucked before.

Fundamentally unlovable and that was before the prospect of being permanently mutilated had ever entered his mind.

He was hideous and weak and now scarred to boot. He wouldn’t blame Abigail if she finally left. His wounds giving her the final push that she needed to find someone better.

Someone more handsome and strong.

Blonder.

John thought cynically, a sob escaping him as he placed the mirror on the chair next to his food and settled himself back down under his covers.

The only thing he liked about solitude was being able to express himself without judgement. But the gnawing pain that isolation caused him was only slightly eased by the fact that he could weep unabashedly.

He closed his eyes, letting his tears wet the pillow under his face as he wished for a better world where he could have comfort without judgement.

~~

John awoke with a start. Sitting bolt upright and gagging as pain ripped through him at the sudden movement. He breathed heavily, through his mouth. Sweat dripping from his brow and soaking into his clothes, making him shiver in the cool morning air.

He tried to pull himself together. Chase away the snarling jaws that had been pursuing him and the frigid air that had been burning his lungs. A cold so overwhelming he could still feel it in his bones weeks later.

He swallowed, mouth suddenly salivating as he shook his head and tried to will away the vomit. Leaning down quickly and only just managing to grab at the chamber pot Abigail had tucked under his bed before his dinner spilled into the bowe. Stitches ripping and tearing as he emptied his stomach.

Once he’d finished dry retching he wiped at his mouth with the back of a shaky hand. Smearing tears and spit across his cheeks as he slowly inched back down into bed and placed the pot back under his cot. 

He stared at the ceiling. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he tried to remind himself that he was safe. Working on calming his heart and breathing as he bit at his lip to stop it from shaking.

After a long while his uneven breathing returned to a normal rhythm and he felt himself relax. Eyes fluttering closed once more as sleep threatened to overtake him and he gave in willingly despite his nightmares.

What else was there for him to do but rest.

He heard footsteps approaching his tent and let his eyes open slowly, waiting and listening for someone to enter. As the door to his tent was pushed aside John found himself letting go of a breath, he hadn’t realised he was holding. Relief flooded him. The company of others chased away the wolves.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, unable to hide the surprised noise that slipped from his lips as he realised his visitor wasn’t Abigail.

“Oh.” He mumbled, groaning lightly as he pulled himself back up into a sitting position in front of Mary-Beth. Hoping his red eye and pale face hadn’t given her any hints to his mental state as he tried to act aloof. 

She smiled warmly at him as she waited for him to sit and then set his food down on the bed in front of him.

“Morning.” She said softly, taking the chair next to his bed without invitation and taking a bite of her breakfast as he watched her silently.

“Abigail’s still mad at me then?” He asked quietly, looking towards his food before pulling it into his lap and picking up a charred piece of bread. He was not hungry at all. The thought of eating churning his stomach. But he needed to keep up the appearance that he was healing well. Hoping to take a few small bites without being questioned.

Maybe the bread would calm his stomach anyway.

Mary-Beth hummed in thought as she finished her bite of food. Wiping away the crumbs on her mouth before answering.

“It’s not really my place to say...” She said cryptically, taking another bite of her food as John raised a brow in her direction.

“You mean, you ain’t want to get in the middle.” He offered, as she shrugged.

“I guess you could say it that way.” She answered, covering her mouth as she spoke with it still full.

John smile lightly to himself. He liked Mary-Beth. She was by far his favourite of the younger women in camp. He had nothing against the others, they seemed nice enough. But he and Mary-Beth had hit it off easily as they’d been close in age when she joined.

In fact they had continued to be the closest in age until Abigail came along and they had made fast friends.

Sometimes he felt sad about the fact that they weren’t particularly close anymore. Ever since he had begun his relationship with Abigail it had felt wrong to spend time with another woman. Something he still wasn’t sure about. Having seen Arthur spend plenty of time around other women during his relationship with Mary. 

“What happened last night anyways?” Mary-Beth asked suddenly, breaking John out of his thoughts.

“Thought you didn’t want to get involved?” John stated coyly, making her blush.

“Well… Maybe I was thinking while you were quiet that I’m already more involved than I’d like.” She explained sheepishly, making John snicker. “So, it would be nice to hear your side of it all…” She continued. “How are you John?”

John blinked at the question. Caught off guard by the raw compassion in her voice. Her question was not one of pity, but genuine concern.

The concept made his throat burn. He swallowed hard against it, not really sure he trusted himself to answer without breaking down completely.

Perhaps he wasn’t as okay as he liked to think.

Mary-Beth leaned towards him, placing a hand on his knee and making him look to her with sad eyes.

“I can leave if you like.” She said simply, smiling and searching his face for any sign that she should go.

John swallowed thickly, blinking back against the sting in his eyes as he answered her with a weak voice.

“Please don’t.” He said softly. Overly aware of how close to begging his tone must sound to her.

She nodded in response. Seeming to understand without an explanation and for a second, making John curse the fact that he had fallen for Abigail instead of her.

What he wouldn't give for Abigail to understand him without him even having to speak.

“I bet you’re hearing all kinds of gossip being stuck in here all day.” Mary-Beth mentioned casually as she let go of his knee. Sitting back in her previous position and continuing with her breakfast as if nothing had happened. 

John was very grateful for her tact. Taking a small breath and pushing his negative thoughts to the back of his mind as he nodded.

“Yeah.” he said simply, clearing his throat as he picked up his toast once more and forced himself to take another bite.

“Did you hear Molly yelling at Karen the other day.” She asked, just barely suppressing a chuckle.

John smiled, thankful for her discretion as well as the distraction.

“I think so.” He answered slyly, frowning at his plate. “Did someone get hit?” He asked, cocking a brow as Mary-Beth’s eyes widened at his question. She leaned forward once more to place her hand on his knee as her other came up to cover her mouth.

“Yes!” She giggled behind her hand. “Karen slapped Molly for calling her a trollop!” She exclaimed.

John’s mouth opened in surprise and he found himself laughing along with her, her glee was infectious. 

“Jesus Christ.” He chortled. “How did Dutch take that?” He asked with a hint of scepticism.

She shook her head at the question, shrugging as she replied.

“I don’t think he knows because nothing came of it.” She answered simply. “Frankly I don’t know what he sees in her anyways.”

“Tits.” John answered without thinking, making his companion blush at his words. John cleared his throat awkwardly, remembering he was with a woman and not the other men. He needed to brush up on his manners. “Uh… I mean… She probably has a really nice personality… Behind it all.” He stumbled, surprised when Mary-Beth broke out in fit of laughter.

“John, you are terrible!” She snickered, holding her stomach as John tried to work out how he had been funny. “She’s ridiculous…” She sighed, shaking her head as she pulled herself together. “Stick to your first answer, I think it was correct.” She sniggered.

A comfortable silence descended upon them as they both turned their attention back to their food. John was suddenly feeling hungry with his mood feeling lighter than it had in weeks. 

“Have you met Sadie yet?” Mary-Beth asked quietly as she finished up her food. John frowned as he thought. Suddenly remembering the blonde woman, he had seen around the fire earlier and in the cabin at Colter.

“She the blonde with the sour face?” He asked as he placed his empty plate down in front of him.

“John!” Mary-Beth hissed in reply, her tone still playful but her face serious.

“What? It’s true…” He asked. He was never usually one to beat around the bush when he didn’t think he was going to like someone. He didn’t have the time or the patience to get to know people he wasn’t going to click with.

“It don’t matter. She lost her husband and her whole house up in the snow while you was freezing to death.” Mary-Beth explained, leaning forward to take his plate and pile it on top of hers.

“Jesus…” John whispered, instantly feeling a strong sense of guilt for having misjudged her. “I had no idea.” He said softly.

“Yeah, O’Driscols…” She replied, knowing that was all that needed to be said.

“Of course.” John growled as he glared at his lap. “She wouldn’t be the first person to lose a loved one to those bastards.” He spat, a little more venomously than he intended. 

“You ain’t wrong.” She replied, not needing John to explain. She had been told long ago about Dutch losing Annabelle to those horrible men. 

“You can blame them for Molly being around if it makes you feel any better.” John said after a long moment of silence. Seemingly calming himself down and returning to his jovial manner from earlier.

Mary-Beth giggled once more, raising a hand to push her hair out of her face as she made to stand. 

“Yeah. I like that better than blaming Dutch.” She chuckled. “If there’s one thing I learnt growing up its men don’t seem to have much control over their brains when their pecker decides to get involved.”

John barked out a laugh, the stitches on his lip tugging uncomfortably and making him stop abruptly. Touching at them tenderly before looking up at his friend. He had never heard her talk like that before. It had caught him off guard in the best way.

“Anyways.” She continued, a small smile creeping onto her lips at the surprise on John’s face. “Sadie seems nice enough. She’s just mourning is all.” She said as she moved towards the exit of his tent.

“Yeah.” John replied softly, a little sad that she seemed to be ready to leave. “I’ll be sure to apologise for gawking at her once I can manage it out of here on my own.” 

“Oh you are such a gentleman.” Mary-Beth laughed sarcastically, making John scoff. “Anyways, thanks for eating with me.” She said with a smile.

“No, thank you.” John replied, a little too urgently. He had been so lonely before she’d arrived.

“Want me to leave this closed?” She asked, gesturing to the canvas door.

“No…” John said a little too quickly, making her brow quirk. “Can you open it? Please?” He asked, smiling warily as she nodded in reply. Shaking off the plates in her hands and tucking them under her arm as she tied the door back for him. “Thanks.” John whispered. 

“You’re welcome. Holla if you need anything.” She said softly before disappearing from his sight.

John watched the space where she had been standing, sighing deeply as he listened to the bustle of the camp around him. He would gladly take laundry duty or washing the dishes over sitting alone in his tent for hours at a time. He had never been so keen to get back to chores in his entire life.

~~

John couldn’t believe the sun was already setting. The sky started to darken and almost instantly the camp came to life. With the men back from their jobs and the women finish with their chores for the day, afternoon always was the mostly lively time.

It had been a long day in retrospect. He spent it solitary except for the morning visit from Mary-Beth. No one had come to check on him at all and he was sure Abigail had been giving his side of the camp a wide berth.

He knew he deserved it. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

He stared silently at the end of his bed, towards the entry to his tent. Asking Mary-Beth to leave it open had afforded him the opportunity to watch the goings on of the day. Not that anything interesting had really happened at all.

John startled when a figured cast a shadow on the end of his bed. His eyes had glazed over at some point and he had not noticed anyone walking up on him.

He looked up to see Jack, standing nervously with little hands clasped together in front of him. John felt a strike to his gut at the site. Unsure what to do or say. He hadn’t really spoken to the kid since his fight with Abigail before Blackwater.

“Hi.” He said eventually, voice croaky.

“Hi.” Jack said back simply, a small smile creeping on to his little face at the small interaction.

A silence hung between them heavily as John looked around over the kids shoulder for any sign of Abigail.

“Uh…” John began unsteadily, biting at the inside of his cheek as he thought. “Does your Ma know where you are?” He asked quietly.

“No.” Jack answered happily.

John was surprised to find himself holding back a laugh. He knew full well that Abigail had forbade Jack from seeking him out and he was happy to be openly defying her.

He was his son in spirit if nothing else.

“Well…” John said softly, feeling a pang of guilt in his gut as he spoke. “You should probably go and find her then.” 

He winced openly at the hurt in Jack’s eyes. His little brows furrowing as he placed his hands on his hips. The picture of defiance with his stern face and crinkled nose.

For a split-second John caught himself admiring how much the boy reminded him of his younger self. Before the reality washed over him and tore the slight smile from his lips.

He looked away quickly, playing with his hands as Jack spoke again.

“Why can’t I stay?” He asked loudly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” John croaked out, his heart breaking at the words.

He hated treating Jack this way. He was innocent in all this. He saw John as his Father and he didn’t understand why he was treating him so terribly.

But deep down John knew it was for the best. If he and Abigail were not destined to live their happily ever after then John did not want to spend the rest of his life playing Daddy to a kid that wasn’t his.

Especially if Abigail had other grand plans for herself. Ones that included marrying someone other than him. It was best for everyone that John severed the connection between himself and Jack while the boy was young enough to only have very vague memories of him as an adult.

Jack was silent, causing John to look up after a minute without reply. Regretting it instantly as his eyes met with Jack’s watery ones. The look of betrayal on the kid’s face was more than John could take.

John opened his mouth to speak. To apologise. But he was cut off before he could.

“You’re mean!” Jack shouted suddenly, making John’s mouth snap shut in surprise as the kid turned on his heal and sprinted out of the tent.

“Fuck.” John whispered to himself, his own eyes watering as he listened to the boys sobbing becoming more distant. “Fucking…. Fuck.” He cursed, unsure what else to say in the moment. His heart was aching. There was a large part of him that wanted to run after the boy and tell him he was sorry. But there was an even larger part screaming at him that he’d already been through the hardest part and to just leave the rest to fate. 

“John Marston you _horrible_ man!” Abigail shouted as she rounded the corner into his tent, scaring the shit out of him in the process. He had expected repercussions eventually but certainly not this soon.

It had been all of thirsty seconds since the kid left.

“I…” He floundered pathetically as she stared him down. John’s eyes darted behind her as she began her tirade. Calling him a whole slew of insults not limited to just selfish.

It sounded rehearsed. John realised somewhere in the middle of her rant. She’d been biding her time and waiting for him to fuck up bad enough to let loose on him.

Some other camp members stopped outside his tent to watch the commotion. John’s skin heating at the looks of pity they threw in his direction.

Or was it towards Abigail? He couldn’t tell.

His cheeks burned as Abigail raised her voice even louder. Her frustration with him boiling over for the entire camp to hear as she shouted about what a useless piece of crap he was.

“I… I don’t want to lead him on!” John finally yelled, getting his head together enough to at least try and defend himself. Ignoring the prying eyes and the disappointed head shakes from the likes of Arthur.

“John Marston, you are _so_ selfish. Even damn near dying didn’t give you a sense of empathy.” Abigail shouted.

“Empathy?” John asked incredulously. “Says the woman that ruined that boy’s family and won’t fucking admit it.”

Abigail stopped yelling abruptly, staring at him with a scowl on her face before turning and leaving without another word. 

John would have been proud of the way he had handled that encounter if there hadn’t been an audience. It wasn’t often he could muster up the gall to say something of significance during an argument.

He’d learnt as a child that he was thoroughly useless while he was being yelled at. Something he had never seemed to grow out of to his dismay.

Shouting brought him back to being a scared eight-year-old and afforded him all the strength and wit of one too. It activated his fight or flight and without fail every time ended in running or violence.

He still wasn’t used to shouting with Abigail. Not wanting to fight her he often chose flight. Disassociating from the conversation until she pushed him to the point where he had to answer her. Often resulting in him saying something horrible he couldn’t take back. A small act of non-physical violence that helped to calm his adrenaline. 

He looked towards the door where Abigail had been standing. The people that had milled around to watch all seemed to jump back into action, running off on their way to wherever they had been heading before their noses carried their feet to him. Eager to get lodged thoroughly in his business.

John watched them go silently, feeling shame bubbling up inside as he slowly edged towards the side of his cot. Slipping his legs off his mattress and shakily pushing himself up. A wave of nausea hitting him as his unused muscles protested vehemently.

He let out a slow breath, taking a few shaky steps towards the door of his tent and untying the canvas door. Collapsing backwards onto his cot almost as soon as it was closed, breathing heavily at the effort of holding himself up on his own.

Perhaps he wasn’t ready to re-join the bustle of the camp. In this moment, all he wanted was to be left alone.

  
  


~~  
  
  


John growled angrily as he was woken by a rough shake. He felt like death, having only just fallen asleep an hour prior. His wounds had ached and burned in protest. Muscles throbbing painfully and stopping him from getting any rest. He had been tossing and turning all night. Relieved to finally get some respite in the early morning hours only to be rudely awoken by an unknown hand.

“What?” He found himself snapping, twisting awkwardly and blinking his eyes open to see Abigail standing over him with a scowl. “Oh for fucks sake.” John mumbled to himself madly as he turned back to his comfortable position and ignored her presence. “Leave me alone.” He grumbled into his pillow. He wasn’t about to listen to any more crap about how he was the worst person in the world.

Abigail ignored him. Giving him a pass for the way he spoke to her after the way she’d spoken to him the night before. Guilt had started to seep in after she’d finally delivered her speech. She had only enjoyed it for about an hour afterwards. All justifications she had previous harboured had abandoned her and she spent the night feeling terrible for shouting at him when he was so wounded.

“Get up John.” She ordered briskly.” Susan says you need to have a wash so she can redress your wounds.”

John scoffed loudly, shaking his head against the pillow.

“Fat chance.” He answered, pulling his blanket up higher on his body and snuggling against it. Abigail groaned at him. Folding her arms.

“You’re filthy. “You wanna’ get another infection and die you idiot?” She asked angrily, at the end of her tether already so early in the morning.

“Honestly?” John asked, not bothering to open his eyes. “I don’t really care at this point.” He replied, pressing his face harder into the mattress as if it would help him ignore her more effectively.

There was a long silence after he spoke. Abigail surprising him with her lack of reply and involuntarily piquing his interest. He turned back to her, opening his eyes slightly as he peered at her face.

“Just get up.” Abigail said slowly, her tone catching him off guard as she exited the tent and left him to his own devices.

John watched her go, sitting up slowly as he tried to figure out what just happened and how the fuck he had avoided being yelled at.

~~

Susan didn’t bother to announce herself as she walked into John’s tent. Pushing past the canvas door without a word, hands full with a large wash bucket filled with water.

John rolled his eyes at her entrance. He had begged her repeatedly over the years to announce herself before she entered his tent and to her credit she had been trying.

But once she had walked in on him in his late teens and officially seen more than she bargained for, she had given up. Not seeing the point in trying anymore now that the worst was already out of the way, to John’s dismay.

“Strip.” She ordered pointedly as she placed the wash bucket on the ground with a thud. John snorted at her request, eyeing the bucket from his place on the edge of his cot.

“Um. No.” He replied simply, mirth in his tone. Her eyes turned on him. Her exhausted face looking at him with exasperation.

“For the love of God, John who do you think changed you when you were half dead up in the mountains?” She asked tiredly, kneeling in front of the bucket and beginning to roll up her sleeves.

“A-Abigail.” John answered honestly. He hadn’t really thought about it beyond Susan dressing the wound on his arm and witnessing the marks on his shoulder.

“Pfft.” Susan laughed, her eyes sparkling as she turned to John and looked at him with a mix of humour and pity. “Yeah, right.” She said flatly, placing her hands on her hips and gesturing her head in the direction of the water.

John didn’t say anything, heat rising in his cheeks as he stared blankly at the water before rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“I can do it myself.” He lied, knowing full well he would need help but not willing to let Susan Mother him more than she already had.

He loved her dearly and if he was being honest, he didn’t mind the Mother-hen act.

He enjoyed feeling cared for and Susan was the closest thing to a Mother that he had ever had. Besides Bessie but he’d not had as long with her. But the older he got the more the other guys had teased him about relying on her. He knew he would never live it down if he let her bathe him. Someone was always watching and that was the kind of thing that got you teased for the rest of your life.

“John.” Susan said knowingly, smiling at him with weary eyes. 

John shook his head at her. 

“I can do it.” He promised. “I’ll call for you when I’m done so you can dress my wounds.”

Susan sighed tiredly, shaking her head as she pushed herself up from the ground.

“Fine.” She said simply, her tone annoyed. John watched her go, taking in a deep breath and exhaling heavily as he steeled his exhausted body against the pain that was to come.

~~

Abigail watched from her lean-to as Susan exited the tent soon after entering and frowned at the scene before her.

Grimshaw wasn’t usually one to take no for an answer, so she doubted John had been allowed to go back to bed without a bath. She watched as the Matriarch stomped towards Pearson’s cart and poured herself a cup of coffee. Downing it almost instantly and making Abigail’s stomach turn. She loved her coffee, but even she needed to sip it.

Suddenly the older woman’s eyes were locked onto hers and Abigail felt a slight chill run down her spine. Swallowing as Grimshaw stormed towards her. Her face as sour as ever.

Abigail had been through a lot in her life and in general people were hard pressed to make her nervous. But something about Grimshaw’s steely eyes always made her feel uneasy.

“Will you help that stubborn bastard of a husband of yours with his bath?” She asked curtly as she reached the edge of Abigail’s bedroll.

Abigail couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the request. She had been avoiding John since the night before and she had already begrudgingly woken him up at Susan’s request.

“He don’t want my help.” She replied just as curtly, eyes focused on her knitting instead of Susan’s face.

“Well he don’t want mine either but I’m sure he’d be much more impartial to you forcing your way in there than he would me.” Susan argued, hands on her hips as she grew increasingly frustrated with Abigail’s disrespect.

“I ain’t ‘bout to run in there and piss him off any more than I already have.” Abigail argued back. Unable to meet her eyes as she stood her ground.

“Well someone’s gotta take care of the boy.” Susan exclaimed in exasperation. “ He can barely stand. He’ll kill himself trying to wash in that bucket without help.”

Abigail didn’t respond. Keeping her eyes down and feigning interested in her work until she heard Grimshaw grunt and stamp away.

She loved John but he pissed her off to no end. His mixture of hot and cold was getting old fast and Abigail was sick of trying to guess what kind of mood he was going to be in when she spoke to him. One minute he was a hair off weeping and begging her to stay and the next he was shouting at her to leave.

One minute he was whispering about how much he loved her and the next he was kicking her ass out of his tent. She couldn’t keep up with whatever was going on in his head. It was as though suddenly a few weeks before Blackwater everything had changed. The John she knew to be relatively quiet and reserved when it came to his family was loud and offensive. He’d snapped and Abigail wasn’t sure why.

Content to blame it on the woman Arthur had told him about. The one he’d met in the saloon and rode out to meet the night she’d fucked his brains out and finally told him she loved him.

He’d been so damn happy the next day. She thought she’d fixed whatever the hell had been going wrong inside him but then the next thing she knew he was screaming at her. Proper shouting full of emotions. Hatred and despair.

If only he’d tried to talk to her about how he felt or whatever had happened to turn him so sour. But instead he had acted rashly and ripped her and Jack from the safety of his tent and for that she refused to forgive him without a proper apology.

Abigail sighed angrily. Setting her sewing down and glaring at the closed door of John’s tent.

She supposed she should help him. Even if she was mad at him. Even if she did want to slap him across the face sometimes. He was weak at the moment and he needed someone.

Needed her.

She realised, pushing herself to her feet and telling Jack to stay put until she returned.

~~

John’s shaky hands took longer than he’d expected to unbutton his union suit enough to slip it down over his shoulders. Fabric sticking to the tacky bandages that blood had managed to seep through as he over worked his shoulder, clinging to Charles the day before.

He shivered is his sweaty skin hit the cool air of the morning. Swallowing down bile as he forced himself to keep going. Struggling to bend to get it far enough down his legs that he could use his feet to push it the rest of the way off.

Finally he was free of his garments and bandages. Trembling terribly as he lifted one foot and stepped into the bucket Susan had left. The water was tepid at best and he cringed at the thought of spreading it over his entire body.

I just have to do enough to get them off my back.

He reminded himself, groaning as he tried bend down and ended up landing hard on his knee. His bad leg taking his entire weight and making him grit his teeth as it ached in protest.

He stayed in his kneeled position, too scared to try and move again lest he topple the entire bucket. He wasn’t sure either of his arms could take his weight and he didn’t want to risk landing flat on his fucked-up face.

Slowly he began to wash, hissing and groaning as the water touched his wounds. A fresh stinging pain replaced the burning ache as he cleaned himself.

Everything hurt.

He felt weak. He wasn’t sure if he was going to vomit or pass out. But when he tried to run the washcloth he was given over his face he decided he’d had enough. Leaning over and using the edge of his cot to pull himself up. Dragging his exhausted body onto the bed and lying still for a minute, breathing heavily. Water seeping into his blanket and mattress as he struggled to catch his breath.

He knew he should call for Susan to help him dress but if he was going to stoop to that level he may as well have let her bathe him properly.

He looked to the side, reaching out for his discarded union suit and slipping it over his legs while he was lying down before swinging them over the edge of the cot and forcing himself to sit up again.

He puffed heavily, placing both arms into the ends of his sleeves and shrugging the fabric up towards his shoulders.

As he reached for his collar to pull it towards his neck the door to his tent was pushed aside gently. Startling John and causing him to pull at his suit a little too harshly, trying quickly to cover his wounds and hissing as the fabric grazed over them.

Abigail looked him over as he hurried to pull the fabric over his other shoulder and tried to ignore the sting of the burn scars, he had just unintentionally ripped the fresh scabs off.

“Announce yourself.” John demanded gruffly as her eyes trailed over his pathetic form. She frowned at him.

John prayed she hadn’t seen the scars on his shoulders. Silently begging her not to mention it if she had.

“It’s freezing John.” Abigail said simply, making him frown back at her.

“Really?” He asked sarcastically, trembling fingers struggling to do up the buttons of his suit.

“You’ll catch your death getting back in that dirty suit without drying yourself.” Abigail chided, taking a step towards him. “You’re all wet, let me help you.” She said as she reached for the towel Susan had left with the bucket. 

John held out his hand as she moved towards him. Stopping her from coming any closer as her eyes were trained on the buttons he had finally managed to close successfully.

“Leave me be.” He said tiredly, lying back on his damp mattress and closing his eyes at the relief of not having to hold himself up anymore.

Abigail sighed loudly, moving closer and perching herself on the edge of his cot now that he had put his hand down. John huffed as the bed moved beneath her weight.

Flinching as her hand rested gently on his wet thigh.

He opened his eyes and looked to her tiredly.

“John, let me help you dry.” She pleaded softly, pulling at his heart strings as well as his hands as he let her guide him into a sitting position once more. “You’ll freeze to death.” Abigail repeated as he grunted under his own weight. Body tensing as he sensed something deeper within what she was saying.

“What do you care?” He spat, eyes narrowing at her as she rolled her own in response. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask or why he’d felt the need to be defensive in his own questioning. But something inside him was screaming that she had an ulterior motive.

She was being too kind.

“Well it’d look pretty bad on my part if you were to die under my care.” Abigail answered frankly, again intending to make him laugh.

John pursed his lips. His eyes watered involuntarily. He looked away quickly to avoid her gaze. The sting of tears burned against his eye as he held them back. The catch in his throat forcing him to hold his breath momentarily. 

He hummed in reply. Unable to trust his voice as he studied his hands.

He was so damn exhausted. He couldn’t take her snark today.

“John…” She said softly, inching closer as her eyes flicked over his features. “I didn’t mean…” She began lightly, reaching her hand towards his face and recoiling as he swatted it away.

“You did.” He said simply, glowering at the ground as his voice cracked.

There was a long silence between them. Tension palpable as Abigail jiggled her leg nervously under her skirt. The motion rocking the cot ever so slightly and turning John’s stomach.

She had momentarily forgotten how fragile he was. Evidently not in the mood for jokes. Taking them too seriously and believing she was out to cause him harm.

“If you don’t want to be here, just go.” John said faintly, looking up at her with a steely expression that hid his deeper emotions. Abigail licked her lips, eyes flicking between his as she contemplated what to say. 

“It was a joke John.” She explained making John roll his eyes as she tried to justify herself.

“Why do you always dance around the truth and never just say what you mean?” John asked angrily. Biting his lip as he stared at her with pained eyes. “You wouldn’t care if…” He trailed off. Unable to keep his voice steady any long as she shook her head at him.

“That’s not true.” Abigail replied tiredly. “I think you need to-.”

“No.” John said angrily, cutting her off as he slammed his fists against his thighs in protest. “I don’t want to hear it!” He shouted, catching her off guard with his aggression. “You don’t forgive me?” He asked, shaking his head. “Fine.” He spat. “But just go.”

Abigail stared at him for a long moment. She honestly should have seen this coming. His hot demeanour bursting forth from nowhere and pushing her away in a spectacular fashion.

He was near blubbering seconds earlier over the thought of not caring if he were to die. Now he was shouting at her to leave. Probably more to protect himself than because he actually wanted it.

She sighed. Taking a calming breath and holding her hands out in front of her in a gesture of surrender as she tried one last time stop him from pushing him away further or saying something he would regret.

“You need someone to take care of you.” She replied coolly. Letting her hands fall to her lap as John glared at her menacingly.

“Well.” John began strong. “Ain’t no reason it has to be you.” He said, venom in his tone as he implied that he had other options.

Abigail glared at him, shaking her head and calling his bluff as she stood. Her hands fell to her hips as she waited for him to protest. 

John kept his eyes averted, refusing to take it back. If she didn’t want to be there, she didn’t have to be.

If taking care of him was purely for the sake of appearances, which he assumed it was. Then she didn’t need to be the one to do it. They’d only been here a week and every damn day she had come around, only to leave after getting pissed off. Lumping his care duties on someone else or just plain neglecting him entirely.

He had gotten along just fine without her. Susan had been kind to him and he could go without food. He’d proven that in his life more times than he could count on two hands.

He desperately wanted her to stay. But he wanted her to _want_ to stay. He was so sick of being alone. Lonely. Wishing that she’d just come and sit with him a while. But she never did. She only came to bring him food and make sure he hadn’t died during the night and he couldn’t take it anymore.

The teases of affection that never turned into anything more. They were the first thing to disappear the second he said anything that wasn’t exactly as she wished it to be.

“You ain’t gonna beg me to stay?” Abigail asked, grabbing John’s attention and physically pulling his eyes towards her. Looking over her frustrated features and sighing deeply as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“No.” He said firmly, surprised his voice didn’t waver. “I’m done beggin’.” He said softly, his voice just as firm. “You don’t wanna be here? Stop stringin’ me along and just leave me alone for the love of God.” He growled, fists flexing.

Abigail narrowed her eyes.

“Fine.” She said simply, her tone almost chipper. Without another word she turned on her heel and left. Leaving John feeling breathless, as though she had sucked the air from his lungs with her departure.

He stared at his hands, forcing himself to breathe when he realised he had been holding his breath.

His heart ached in a way he couldn’t describe if he tried. But overall he mostly felt numb. He was so tired of their back and forth. The bickering and sharp tones. Taking stabs at one another over every little thing because both of them had so much built-up resentment due to the wrongs they had both committed during their time together.

He wanted nothing more than to start fresh. A clean slate where they both agreed to just move on. Forgive and forget. God knows he had tried his best. But he knew deep down there was no way Abigail would oblige. He felt she physically couldn’t help but lash out when he pissed her off and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He was done with trying to fix their relationship. Done with hoping she would come around or change. He had so much love for her but deep down there was also hatred that felt like a thick, black, sludge that he kept swallowing down. Pushing to the back of everything, all the time to try and keep the peace.

If she truly didn’t want to be with him then he was not going to force her. He wasn’t going to be the only one trying anymore. 

Maybe they’d all have been better off if he’d died on that mountain. He wouldn’t be the burden he was right now. 

Abigail wouldn’t be tethered to the gang anymore and would finally be able to move on. She wouldn’t have to stay for the sake of appearances. She could leave and be free. Find someone she truly loved and marry them instead without the suffocating guilt that currently clouded her every decision.

He was well aware that she felt she had worked herself into a corner. Selling the con of John being Jack’s Father so hard that even she had started to believe it. She couldn’t back away now. No matter how much she wanted to. There was no going back on a claim like that. Not without taking full responsibility and looking like a right cunt in front of all her loved ones.

She was stuck with him. Even though he repulsed her. Likewise he was stuck with her. The juvenile crush he had felt for her when they’d first met had blossomed into full blown obsession under her tender affections. The kind of love he felt for her did not fade easily. But he knew that as with all pain, it would eventually dull if she did finally leave him.

He would move on and maybe if he tried really hard he could make someone else love him or at the very least, like him. Even simple toleration would be a step up from what he had now. 

His mind wondered back to Maggie. Eyes watering as he remembered the way he had given up that shot at happiness. Closing the door on any fondness she had for him and for what? So Abigail could continue to humiliate him in front of his peers. Taking his heart and claiming it as her own, only to stop it into the dust with a cruel laugh.

Sometimes he thought about going back to that desert town. Although that choice had been ripped from him involuntarily now. Heading back to the west was no longer an option and deep-down John knew that it was for the best.

He moved his hand slowly from its place by his side. Bringing it up to gently caress at the tender flesh on his cheek. Fingers running gingerly over his stitches as he finally let go of his tears.

He’d never been a beauty.

But now…

Even if he could get back there he was sure to be rejected. Having the door slammed in his face for daring to hope a woman could love someone as repugnant as himself.

Besides…

He rationalised, letting his hand fall to his chest as he tried to calm his ragged breathing.

He didn’t really want her. If he had, he would have taken the chance and ran away with her. Taken the choice from Abigail and given her the gift of a free life.

His heart belonged to Abigail. Even when he screamed and shouted and vowed to hate her for good this time he knew there was no point in denying it. She would feel guilty eventually. Offering him some morsel of affection and convincing him without even trying that everything would be okay this time.

They would work.

They were in love.

Before ripping the floor out from under him once more and sending him careening over a fucking cliff. Landing crumpled and broken at the bottom and wishing he had died as he hit the ground.

He wiped at his eyes. Wondering solemnly if she even understood how much she hurt him with her indifference.

~~

It had been a few days since Abigail’s last visit to John’s tent. She had called his bluff hard and refused to see him again after he’d told her he didn’t need her to care for him.

He was feeling much better physically. No longer shaking with the strain of holding his own weight and his face had finally stopped burning. Although the itching that had started the afternoon before was driving him absolutely mad.

He had already been caught twice scratching at his stitches and Susan had threatened to tie his hands the next time she saw him picking at them.

A slew of different gang members had been bringing him his food. No one staying to chat for more than a minute. He wasn’t completely sure why although he had an idea. He didn’t have the balls to ask.

Even Arthur had stopped in with a meal the night before. John had been surprised to see him. Less surprised though as the older man dumped his food roughly in front of him and left without another word. It was obvious he had been guilted into contributing somehow and it made John feel sick in the stomach to know that to the gang he was just another chore.

He was surprised when Susan had sat with him. Bringing his breakfast and settling herself down beside his bed. He hadn’t really known what to say to her after so long alone. So long stuck inside his own head.

He was grateful when she initiated the conversation. Chatting to him as if she was there fully of her own volition and not because he was a burden that was rapidly losing sanity in his isolation.

“Suppose you’re wondering why everyone’s being so cagey around you.” She said as a statement and not a question. Stuffing a bite of food into her mouth as John side eyed her.

“Not really.” He lied, his curiosity peaking as she looked at him knowingly. 

“Don’t lie John, it’s unbecoming.” She scolded lightly, making him flush like a child in trouble. “That woman of yours made a big stink about you not needing her help.” She explained, taking another bite of her food and watching as his brows furrowed in annoyance. Swallowing she continued. “Threaten’ anyone that wanted to give you a hand to cut it out so you learnt from your mistake.” She said. “I think she’d out there waitin’ for you to concede you were wrong and beg her forgiveness.”

“O’course’ she is.” John mumbled, more to himself than Susan.

She hummed in reply, watching him closely. 

“She thinks you need to learn to be respectful.” She scoffed. “Imagine that.” She laughed heartily as John looked at her with tired eyes. “A whore speaking of respect.”

John looked away as she spoke, not willing to agree with what she had to say.

As upset as he was with Abigail he had respect for her and prostitutes in general. He’d met men before. He knew what kind of crap those poor women had to put up with to make a living.

He didn’t reply. Unwilling to speak badly of Abigail for her past profession no matter how much it had hurt him in the past. That wasn’t the reason he was pissed at her now and he wouldn’t have it getting back to her that, that was the case.

“That why everyone’s just been dropping my food and leaving?” He asked instead, staring at his plate.

Susan shrugged, looking at him sadly and feeling guilt for not dropping in on him herself until now.

“Think everyone’s a little wary in general at the moment.” She said softly, trying to lessen the blow. “Everyone’s on edge after Blackwater. No one wants to stir the pot unnecessarily.”

John nodded knowingly. Still, feeling hurt inside that the people he considered his friends would rather yield to Abigail than help him in his time of need.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. John eating his food in silence as he tried to think of something to say that would keep her with him a little bit longer. He wasn’t quite ready to be alone again.

“So, what’s been going on anyway?” He asked hesitantly. “With the gang I mean. Dutch got a plan?” He asked, pushing his food around his plate lazily as Susan placed her empty one on the ground at her feet.

“Don’t you worry about that.” She answered. “All you need to worry about it getting better so you can help us get out of this mess.”

“From what I hear I’m not the only one worried.” John mused, looking at her questioningly as she shook her head.

“Dutch will get us out of this.” She said firmly. John’s mouth forming a thin line.

“Will he?” He asked softly, watching as Susan took in a sharp breath and refused to meet his eyes. She was silent for a long while, staring at the ground before finally speaking.

“Trust him John.” She said simply, something in his gut twisting at the tone in her voice. He wasn’t sure she quite believed what she was saying. But she would never dare speak a bad word against Dutch. 

John didn’t push it, not feeling like getting into an argument when he’d only meant to ask for reassurance. Perhaps Susan wasn’t the one he could talk to about the things he’d seen on the boat in Blackwater. But if not her, he wasn’t sure who.

“Dutch has done a lot for you son.” She continued as she stood, taking his plate from him and heading towards the door. “Just…” She paused, mulling over her words. She looked around her quickly, her voice falling to a whisper as she spoke. “Don’t let anyone hear you talking like that.” She whispered, giving him a sad look before replacing it with a small smile and assuring him she’d be back in the morning.

John nodded in understanding. Feeling sad as she left him alone once more. He shouldn’t be openly doubting Dutch in the first place after all he’d done for him. But something in the back of his mind was nagging at him. Telling him there was something to be worried about and he couldn’t let it go.

~~

Susan did return the next morning much to John’s surprise. He half expected her to hand him his plate and leave like the others. But she didn’t. Handing him his food and settling herself beside him once more. 

He was sure she would be loyal to Dutch for the rest of their time. She had already proved time and time again that she was willing to overlook the less desirable aspects of his personality.

He was glad to see her this morning but hesitant to speak after their conversation the night before. He didn’t have much to say. Hadn’t really been thinking of anything else except his situation with Abigail and he didn’t want to talk about that either. 

He stared into his food, pushing it around the plate listlessly as he racked his mind for something to talk about. He hadn’t exactly been up to much the last few weeks. He had nothing new to say that she didn’t already know about. He was so bored he’d actually considered asking if there was any sewing that needed to be done.

He sighed suddenly, setting the bowl down on his lap and staring at it idly. He could see Susan eyeing him in his peripheries and turned to face her slowly. 

She didn’t look away, making strong eye contact as she brought her own spoon to her mouth and took a bite. She chewed slowly before swallowing and placing her spoon back down in her bowl and then the bowl beside her on his cot.

“What is it?” She asked after a moment, looking between John and his uneaten food. He shrugged lightly, averting his eyes.

“I don’t know.” He answered softly, staring at the ground. “Do you think…” He began slowly, frowning as he spoke. “Do you think maybe I could sit outside for a while today?” He asked. “I feel a lot better than I did last time Charles took me out… I’ve been walkin’ a bit in here and… I’m bored outta’ my damn mind.” He explained, turning to look at her again and glowering at her amused smirk.

She didn’t answer, looking him over with a small smile. It was rare for her to see this softer side of him since he’d hit puberty. Seemingly overnight he’d gone from sweet little boy to a feral teenager and after that it wasn’t long until he’d become a man. An idiotic full-grown man. One she had heard proclaim many times that he ‘didn’t need no one’s permission’ to do anything. 

Susan almost missed the days that he would follow her around and beg for her to take him to town to do ‘something fun’.

John watched her for a few moments. Waiting for her to respond before raising his brows at her.

“I mean, technically I don’t need your ‘permission’ to do nothin’, do I?” He asked sarcastically, following her train of thought. Susan laughed at his response. A hearty chuckle wrinkling her fine features.

“No, you do not.” She answered pointedly. “But I am sure glad _someone_ around here respects my authority.” 

John smiled weakly. Not a day went by where he didn’t hear her shout at someone about this being her camp and that means following her rules.

“It’s nice to be taken seriously for once. You know if I was to refuse you it’s only because I’m only concerned about your health John.” She said seriously after a moment of silence. John nodded in response, scraping his spoon along the bottom of his bowl once more before speaking again.

“Just nice to feel like someone cares.” He muttered, refusing to look up from his food as he felt Susan move closer. She surprised him when she leant forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll never stop caring for you sweetheart.” She said tenderly as John looked to her slowly. His heart fluttering at her words. She squeezed his shoulder lightly, causing John’s blood to run cold as he had a moment of realisation.

He swallowed thickly as Susan pulled away, unable to hide his shocked expression as he thought back to Colter. Remembered the look she’d given him when she’d seen his burns.

He wasn’t sure if he’d suppressed it or just simply forgotten with everything else going on at the time. But either way he remembered now and his heart raced in his chest, bile rising in his throat as he stared at her like a deer in torchlight.

Susan smiled at him, seeming to follow his train of thought as her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

“I hope you know you can talk to me John.” She said softly, resting a comforting hand on his knee. “Maybe before things get too much for you next time.” She said firmly, letting the words sink in as John’s cheeks shone a dark crimson and he refused to look her in the eyes. “Come on now.” She said as she took John’s uneaten food from his hands and placed it with hers on the end of the cot. “Hop up, let’s take you outside.” She instructed, standing and holding out her hand for him to take.

“Aren’t you gonna’ get one of the guys… Arthur or Charles…?” He asked when he finally found his voice, looking at her hand sceptically but taking it nonetheless.

“They all have other things on their plate.” She explained, helping him to his feet with surprising strength. “No offence.” She added as she slung his arm over her shoulders and ignored the way he groaned in protest.

He had been standing pretty well on his own the last few days and even taking a few steps here and there without faltering. But he had lost condition during his recovery and even a short walk really took everything out of him.

Regardless he was looking forward to finally stretching his legs properly. Getting some air and not feeling like such an invalid anymore. 

Susan set off in a strong stride and despite being able to walk quite well, John still struggled to move his legs as fast as hers. He huffed out pained breaths as she practically dragged him across the campsite. Earning themselves stares and even a few chuckles from the men. 

“Ignore them.” Susan instructed as she helped him sit on a stump under the shade of a large tree. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and it felt good on his skin. He took a moment to steady himself as she pulled away. Smiling as she looked him over. “Hopefully some of your colour will start to come back after you’ve spent some time in the sun.” She said frankly, making John frown.

“Colour?” He questioned, shaking his head. 

“You look like a corpse son.” Hosea interjected as he strode up behind John, making him jump. John turned to look at him briefly before turning back and rolling his eyes.

Hosea hadn’t spoken to him since before Colter. Hadn’t checked in on him once. It wasn’t like Hosea to disappear and reappear a week later with an insult. That was much more Arthur’s style. 

John didn’t reply to him, eyes darting up to Susan’s once more. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll get you something to read so you don’t pass from boredom.” She chuckled, moving away and leaving him sitting in silence with Hosea. 

The older man had his hands on his hips and was staring out over the cliffside with a weathered smile on his face.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” He asked after a moment. John ignored him, suddenly wishing he had something to pretend to be distracted by. Hosea turned to him when he didn’t reply, looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his new scars as he finally asked.

“How are you feeling?”

John had been expecting the question. But still felt unsure how to answer. Knowing deep down that even if Hosea was asking because he genuinely cared that he would ultimately report his answer to Dutch.

“Better.” John said simply. Chewing the words over in his head before continuing. “Nearly fine…” He added softly. “But… Not quite. You know?” He asked, gesturing to his face as he spoke.

“Course I know.” Hosea replied firmly. He had done his fair share of healing over the years. “Just give it a few more days.” He said, softer. “I know it’s boring.” He added with a chuckle, making John smile.

He nodded in response. Trust Hosea to know him almost better than anyone. He had spent enough long days with a bored young John nipping at his heels and begging for something to do. He knew before anyone when John was close to blowing his own brains out from boredom.

“Been a tough few weeks.” John said quietly. Not really sure what else to say. He hadn’t seen much of it. But he’d heard all about it. He wasn’t the only one that was bored. 

Not the only one that was scared.

“Awful.” Hosea confirmed, nodding along as he clasped his hands behind his back and stared out over the cliffside. “But we’ve been through this before.” He said frankly, his tone knowing.

“Like this?” John asked incredulously. Feeling a sense that the other man was trying to downplay their situation.

“No, not quite like this.” Hosea conceded with a sigh, his mouth a thin line as John continued. Spilling his anxieties without really meaning to.

“Government agents, bounty hunters, traps, massive prices on our heads?” John complained, feeling compelled to list the things he was worried about on his fingers as the other man nodded in understanding.

“It ain’t good. But if we keep hidden it will pass.” Hosea assured him, laying a comforting hand on John’s shoulder briefly before returning to gaze at the cliffside. “Still a big country.” He added, gesturing towards the valley below with a smile.

“Don’t feel quite so big no more.” John lamented softly, feeling the sickness from earlier starting to return at the thought of being captured or worse.

His family being captured and held captive by those government bastard.

“That’s the modern world.” Hosea said flatly as if he disapproved heavily of the way the world was going. “I think I liked the old ways better.” He said with a chuckle, confirming John’s suspicions before turning on his heel and leaving John alone once more.

“Me too!” John shouted after him, turning back to the cliffside and placing his head in his hands as he thought about everything.

Susan interrupted him, bringing him a large book and he took it gratefully. He wasn’t usually one that read for fun but anything was better than sitting alone and pondering his fate.

He was excited to be outside of his tent. Wanting to relax in the sun for as long as possible before someone else felt the need to comment on his strength.

He turned the book over in his hands and read the blurb. Sighing as he realised it was some 15th century crap he wouldn’t understand. 

Regardless he opened it and forced himself to read the first page. Turning to the second without realising as the story slowly sucked him in. He read for a while, enjoying the heat of the sun on his skin until a shrill voice cut through the fantasy he was imagining and brought him back to reality.

“Will you go rest, please?” Abigail exclaimed as she stomped up behind him. Making him roll his eyes as he took a calming breath and looked to her as she came up beside him.

Trust her to completely ignore him for days at a time and then interrupt him the second he laid eyes on a good book.

“Quit fussin’, I’m fine.” John said in annoyance, making her scowl. She acted as though he needed her guidance. Couldn’t decide when he’d had enough sun on his own accord. Like he hadn’t already been sitting there for twenty minutes before she noticed him. Or at the very least before she felt the need to come storming over.

“You almost got yourself eaten you silly man!” Abigail exclaimed haughtily, forcing his own face into a scowl as he looked to her with disdain. 

She softened slightly at the look on his face. Feeling bad for being so cruel to him the last few days. She had just been so damn angry at the way he had dismissed her. She wanted him to learn his lesson and come crawling back. Begging for her help, but he had gotten on just fine without her and it had irritated her to no end. She didn’t want to fight. But she sure as hell wasn’t about to apologise either. It was up to him to end their stand-off.

“You’re a long ways from fine.” She said softly, placing a hand on his arm and looking to him with sad eyes. She could tell he was exhausted. Sick and weak. She wanted to help him. Silently begging him to reciprocate so she could go back to being nice. 

“Just let me rest in the sun, it’s good for me.” John muttered irritably, turning back to his book and glaring at the cover. “Only... talkin’, ain’t so good for me...” He added, eyes flicking towards her hand and then her face as he glowered at him, quietly seething.

He wasn’t about to admit he needed her.

“You silly little man.” Abigail growled, frustration bubbling over as she turned away from him. Stomping out along the cliffside as she heard him yell after her.

“Whatever you say!” He shouted sarcastically at her retreating back. He really wasn’t in the mood to hear about what an idiot he was.

“Yes you really should rest, John.” Arthur purred boorishly, making John nearly jump out of his skin as he turned to the man in question. Taking a second to compose himself as he wondered how long the other man had been standing there without him realising.

“I shoulda’ known you’d be sniffen around.” John replied shakily, with as much conviction as he could manage. Arthur chuckled to himself in response, tipping his hat and turning away from the other man.

“Let me know if you’d like me to peel you a grape.” He teased, walking away with a smirk plastered on his face.

John watched him go, silently wishing he had enough strength to punch the smug smile off that idiots dumb face.

~~

John had to admit, it felt good to have his hand gripped tightly around a hammer once again. His grip not quite ready for a gun. Not strong enough to handle the recoil of a pistol. But well enough to be back to doing easy chores.

His arm ached as he swung the hammer against a nail. Sending a shock along his to his elbow and causing him to grit his teeth. His stitches pulling and irritated the skin of his cheek as he huffed in exertion. 

Susan had insisted that he wasn’t ready to get back into the work and John had been surprised when Charles had come to his defence unprompted. Petting him on the back as he let Grimshaw know that he could certainly use a man like John helping him on wagon duty. 

John wasn’t stupid. He knew nailing planks back on the side of the wagon wasn’t exactly a two-person job. But he was grateful for the support, following along eagerly after the burly man and getting to work as quickly as possible.

“You’re healing well.” Charles mumbled, interrupting his thoughts with his words. 

“It’s… slow.” John replied after a moment. Not really used to people commenting on his physical abilities as readily as they seemed to now days.

“I didn’t expect you to be up and about for another few weeks.” Charles said earnestly, turning to John and shrugging. “No offense. Not you specifically. Anyone that had been through what you went through.” He added as a ways of making John feel better.

John smiled weakly, choosing to take the words as a compliment. Charles hadn’t been running with them that long but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He wasn’t much of a talker. Those few sentences had been the most John had ever heard him speak and he was grateful for them. 

He wasn’t sure if the other man could tell he was exhausted or if he was just being polite when he offered to swap jobs with him. Taking the hammer gently from John’s grip and directing him to the wheel where he had been tightening screws.

John found this job slightly easier. If he took his time he could tighten them efficiently and being able to kneel and rest his bad leg was a huge plus.

As John worked his mind started to wander. His hands followed the mundane rhythms of his job that he’d performed a thousand times before. Freeing his mind to think back on the weeks past and wishing now that he could think clearly that he had handled some things differently.

He shouldn’t have pushed Abigail away so readily. His vulnerability was as new to her as it was to him.

It terrified him, the thought of her seeing him weak and wishing she wasn’t stuck with him. But perhaps picking at the wound and shoving her away hadn’t been the right way to handle that situation.

They’d been mostly avoiding each other the last few days. Barely spoken since he told her to leave him be and he couldn’t decide if it was an act of defiance on her part or her actually following his instruction.

“I’m frightened Hosea. Real’ frightened.”

John overheard, his ear pricking at the sound of Abigail’s voice somewhere to his left. He stumbled as he pushed away from the wagon, trying to see where she was and earning himself a raised brow from Charles. 

He spied her sitting on her bedroll, not too far away from him. Hosea was sitting on a crate next to her. His hand in hers as he asked.

“Of what?”

John swallowed at the look on Abigail’s face. She seemed so open and raw in that moment. He’d never seen that side of her before. Never heard her talk like that.

Never admitted that she was frightened.

“Pinkertons. Bounty hunters… It all feels…” She trailed off with a sigh. Looking to Hosea with fearful eyes as the older man nodded knowingly. “I’m afraid.” Abigail repeated. Making John’s throat feel dry. “First time in my life.” She added with a wry Chuckle.

John looked away, turning to Charles and seeing him nod at the unanswered question. John smiled in thanks at the dismissal, creeping closer to them so he could better hear their conversation.

“I know, my dear.” Hosea replied, not feeling confident in saying much more.

“What are we gonna do?” Abigail asked urgently. “Is Dutch… I mean, he’s always found a way but lately I…” She trailed off once more and John felt his palms begin to sweat at the realisation that Abigail shared his concerns about Dutch’s mental health.

“I know dear.” Hosea said again, petting her hand lightly and moving past her question. “Seems we don’t have a choice but to ride this train until the end of the line. If I was you I’d think of the boy and make plans.” He said cryptically, making both Abigail and John frown.

What kind of plans? John wondered as Abigail answered.

“I just wish that John was…” She grunted in annoyance. John’s heart speeding up at the mention of his name. “I care about him.” Abigail spat, as though the words would burn her lips if she didn’t get them out. John gasped softly. Excitement filling him at the prospect of hearing her thoughts on him without having to ask. “Damn fool that he is.” Abigail added, making his smile fall. 

“I know dear.” Hosea said once more. John couldn’t help but feel as though his response was condescending. Less than comforting. “Stay calm. Jack needs you calm.” Hosea said after a moment, standing without another word and leaving Abigail to run her hands through her hair.

John tapped his hands against his thighs. Unsure what his move should be from here but deciding quickly as he watched Abigail place her head in her hands.

He stepped out from his hiding place and moved towards her tentatively. She looked up at him as he approached. Her mouth a thin line as she struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. Of course he was lurking.

John couldn’t help but notice the pink tinge on her cheeks and wondered if it was caused by frustration at Hosea or embarrassment at her exposure in front of him. He ignored it as he sat himself beside her. Not wanting to bring unnecessary attention to her vulnerability. He liked the way the colour looked on her anyway.

Abigail didn’t speak, looking at her hands as John fumbled around trying to find the words that he wanted to say without embarrassing her further. 

“It’ll be alright.” He said eventually. Voice small as he struggled to pretend he believed it. Abigail scoffed at him, turning a condescending smirk on him as she asked.

“You really believe that?”

“Look I… I don’t know what to say.” John explained feebly. “I just… wanted to let you know that you’ll be okay. Even if…” He trailed off, taking a breath. “Even if all this…” He gestured around him, hand lingering on Dutch’s tent. “Isn’t…” He finished, nodding along to his own words as Abigail sighed heavily beside him.

“Hosea’s right you know.” She said softly, placing a gentle hand on John’s knee and making his heart flutter. “We should probably be making other plans.”

John furrowed his brows at the words. Sure he was questioning Dutch a little but he wasn’t about to abandon his family. Everything and everyone he had ever known over one small mistake on Dutch’s part.

“It was just a mistake Abigail.” He said unconvincingly. “We ain’t leaving this gang for one mistake.”

Abigail shook her head at his words. Frustration building at his blatant stupidity. He couldn’t see what she so clearly could. He would die before he abandoned this gang of degenerates. But he would leave her in the middle of the night over a mistake of her own.

“Well it wouldn’t be like you ain’t done it before.” She snarled annoyed at his hypocrisy, eyes narrowing as he turned to her with a look of shock on his face. 

“What’s that mean?” He asked, feeling himself getting heated.

“Nothing.” Abigail said simply, leaving him to stew for a moment longer before adding. “Just that you’ve left over mistakes in the past.” 

John scoffed at her. Taking a calming breath before shaking his head and licking his lips.

“You are… insufferable.” He said in exasperation. Holding back the slew of insults he wanted to throw in her face at her attack. He pushed himself to his feet, intending to go back to helping Charles but being spun around to face Abigail once more as she jumped to her feet as well and grabbed at his arm.

“Well you’re a no good, lowlife bastard that’s only good at one thing and that’s being stupid.” Abigail growled, making John clench his fists in anger. 

“What the fuck is your problem with me?” He asked, voice rising as he gestured to himself. “I tried to comfort you for Christ’s sake!” He shouted. Feeling the sudden urge to stamp his feet like a toddler. He resisted it just barely. The unfairness of the situation sinking it and making him want to scream.

“Well I don’t want to be comforted by the likes of you!” Abigail shouted back as John began to tremble. Cheeks heating as he thought back to how excited he’d been as the prospect that she cared about him.

“Well.” He said after a moment, voice calm but malicious. “Maybe I don’t wanna’ leave my family for someone as awful as you.” He said vindictively. Turning away from her and bracing himself for the reply he knew was coming.

Abigail growled in frustration.

“You’re a horrible little man!” She shouted after him, making him wince despite himself. He desperately wished he could just not care.

He had to stop himself from falling back into her trap or he would spend the rest of his life in this horrible limbo that’s he’d been in since the day Jack was conceived.

~~

Sadie Adler was a strong woman at heart. Although she wasn’t sure any of her new companions thought of her that way. All they had seen of her since she arrived was weakness. 

Heartbreak.

She mourned her husband and the life they had. The pain was suffocating and some days she was unsure if she would even be able to get out of bed. But she did. She felt she owed it to the men that saved her and the women that kept her sane.

She hadn’t been a part of the gang for very long but she had gotten to know some of the members quite well. 

She liked the women just fine. But she wasn’t sure she would ever truly be happy living as they did. In her home there was no such thing as ‘women’s chores’. Her Jake never made her do a chore he wasn’t prepared to do himself. They shared everything. Especially the workload.

Sadie despised her upbringing. Constantly being reminded that as a woman she wasn’t entitled to the happiness that men were free to feel. She was less than and supposed to act like it. When she’d met Jake all of that had changed in a heartbeat. He truly was the love of her life and he had taught her, her worth. 

She didn’t look down on the women of the camp for the chores they did or things they chose to do for fun. But she knew inside that she wouldn’t ever be like them again. She was going to be strong again one day and she was going to take care of herself.

Sadie had noticed almost immediately that Abigail Roberts seemed to hold herself differently than the other women. Something about her screamed independence and she certainly wasn’t afraid to tell the men around her like it was. 

She couldn’t tell if it was confidence or stupidity that had her shouting at men like Arthur to watch their tongue in front of her boy. But either way Sadie admired the hell out of it. 

Abigail had been so kind to her since she arrived. She had been a pillar of strength to Sadie and a shoulder to cry on. A Godsend if Sadie did say so herself.

Although if she was being honest, Sadie was surprised to find Abigail was kind-hearted at all. After watching the way she had interacted with her husband when they were stuck in the mountains Sadie had come to the conclusion that Abigail was not a very nice person.

She didn’t know the history between herself and John and she didn’t care to. All she knew at the time was that this woman’s husband was scared and in pain and Sadie had watched on as she abandoned him. 

At the time she had justified it to herself by concluding that perhaps John was not a very nice man. He was an outlaw after all and Sadie had spent enough time in the company of outlaws in the last week before Colter to know that some of them were just downright rotten scum.

But once John’s wounds had healed and she had gotten to see him around camp a little she thought he seemed perfectly fine. He was a little hot headed but he could hold his tongue when he needed to. He didn’t seem like the type of man that would physically punish his woman. If anything her initial take on John’s personality seemed to be shy and stand-offish. But perhaps that was just because she was new. He was a little more open with the others. Although still pretty quiet overall. 

She wasn’t sure what the deal was with their relationship. She had heard Abigail call John her husband numerous times. But they did not share the same surname and watching them interact with one another was like pulling teeth.

Sadie watched numbly as the Marston’s stared one another down across the camp. They had been sitting together moments before. Seeming as though they were getting along. But in a heartbeat they were both on their feet. Abigail getting closer and closer to John until he finally started to walk away from her.

“You’re a horrible little man!” She screamed in conclusion, making the blonde cringe as she watched John stomp away from her. Fists clenched as he swiped a bottle of alcohol from one of the tables while he thought no one was watching.

It hurt Sadie deeply to see Abigail treating her husband so badly when she knew her own wasn’t ever coming back. It seemed cruel and insensitive of the universe to place her in a situation where she had to watch this marriage break down and mourn her Jake at the same time. She couldn’t fathom ever being so angry at her sweet husband. She had never yelled at him once in all their time together.

As far as she could tell, the anger was coming from a place of Abigail wanting to talk things out with John and him pushing her away. Abigail was a sweet woman. But Sadie couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she had done to deserve being pushed away.

She’d heard gossip from the other women that John had done something terrible to deserve Abigail’s anger although it was never clear what that transgression was and every time Sadie asked about John, they had nothing but good things to say about him. He wasn’t a violent man. Not towards women or children anyway and most of them considered him a friend. It was concerning to her that they all seemed to share the same common notion that he was in the wrong. But were unable to explain why.

Sadie knew better. 

She could see the sadness in his eyes every time they wandered in Abigail’s direction. She could hear the hurt in his voice when he spoke to her.

That man was heartbroken. A feeling she unfortunately knew all too well.

~~

John found helping to fix the wagons was the probably the easiest of tasks for him to accomplish in his tired state.

Standing for long periods of time was certainly getting easier. But he still didn’t feel quite right. There was a fog on his brain and he quietly hated how often he felt himself shaking. 

Charles had moved on from the wagons a few days earlier leaving the work to John who he was very grateful that it had never been mentioned out loud. The stocky man sensing John’s fragile state and moving on to more laborious tasks so that he could complete the easier work at his leisure.

John had been excited to tell Susan that he already had a bunch of work lined up when she’d tried to rope him into helping with the washing. He hadn’t been so lucky a few days earlier and had reluctantly scrubbed the other camper’s delicates.

John felt sympathy for the poor women that were forced to do that job on a daily basis. Not only did his abs ache something fierce from holding himself in a suspended position while grinding the cloth repeatedly against a wash board. 

But… men were disgusting.

John leaned heavily against the wagon he was working on today. Trying and failing to look aloof as he measured the missing plank of wood with his fingers and grabbed a piece from his pile long enough to fit the hole. 

He grabbed his hammer, placing a few nails in his mouth and bunting them down one by one into the plank to hold it in place.

He listened absently to the chatter coming from the women around the side of the wagon. Frowning as he heard Arthur’s voice amongst them and craning his neck around the edge of the wagon to see the older man talking to Mary-Beth. 

Something about a pen. John didn’t care to listen even though he knew if the roles were reversed that Arthur would be straining to hear his conversation. He wasn’t exactly a small man and his powerful presence wasn’t easy to hide. He’d felt him leering more than once while he’d argued publicly with Abigail. 

John sighed, as he took a step back from his work. He was feeling stronger than he had been the last time he’d grasped a hammer. But still not quite right. 

He took the nails from his lips and placed them down on the back of the wagon as he tried to work out where he had gone wrong. Frustration building in him as he moved back towards the plank and tried to shove it down with his hand.

The wood popped back up despite his assault, nails that had been just barely holding on ripping from the wood and jutting out at odd angles as he growled at the wood like it was its fault and not his.

“Hey Pa look!” Jack called suddenly, ripping John’s attention away from his work as he turned to his side and realised the boy was standing right next to him. John faltered, wondering how long the kid had been there as his tiny body jumped backwards and began swinging a long stick around like a sword. “Come play Pa!” He exclaimed excitedly as John watched on with sad features.

“What did you call me?” He asked with a frown, a lump in his throat at the name he thought he’d heard. 

Pa.

One syllable that evoked such emotion in a grown man. The name he’d used to call his own Father before he died. The name he missed hearing Jack call him from toddlerhood. 

Jack ignored the question. Squealing excitedly at the prospect of conversation and holding up his stick in triumph.

“I’ll be Achilles and you be Hector!” He called eagerly.

John looked away for a quick moment, composing himself. He wanted to indulge the kid. He really did. But it wasn’t good for anyone. Most of Jack. To lead him on and let him think that there could be a chance at them being a happy family. 

Abigail wanted that for him so badly. But she didn’t want it with John.

“I… I don’t read none of that nonsense.” John fumbled, trying to let the boy down easy. A lie. The book Susan had lent him still sitting on the chair next to his bed. He had actually been really enjoying it.

“It’s easy!” Jack shouted happily, too young to understand the concept of a soft rejection. “You swing your sword like this!” He exclaimed. Grunting and shouting as he charred forwards and waved his stick wildly. John smiled faintly at the display before letting his face fall. Sighing deeply as he turned back his work. Leaning on wagon and mumbling.

“Now ain’t such a good time kid.”

Jack stopped moving. Glaring up and John and sighing in disappointment. He let his stick fall to the ground beside John. The older man biting at his lip to keep from changing his mind as the boy grumbled.

“Guess it never is.” 

John closed his eyes, bowing his head for a moment as he listened to Jack’s footsteps get further away before taking a deep breath and trying to return to his work as if nothing had happened.

A snort of derision caught his attention and he turned to it full of anger and hate.

“Don’t you say a word Morgan.” He warned Arthur dangerously.

“Well, that sure is a scene from an ancient tragedy alright.” Arthur spat sarcastically, folding his arms and leaning back hard against a post as John shook his head to keep from saying all the things he so desperately wanted to.

None of it mattered. None of it would make him feel better or look like a better person.

“Go annoy someone else.” He snapped, staring at the plank of wood in front of him for a long moment before throwing the hammer in his hand down hard on the back of the wagon. Turning to look at Arthur one last time before stomping away from the other man. He’d needed a break anyway.

~~

John hadn’t finished his chores. Unable to return to the metaphorical scene of the crime as he’d stewed on the interaction between himself and Jack all day. 

He felt terrible. Sick to his stomach at the way he’d spoken to the innocent kid. All he had ever wanted growing up was for someone to love him. A parent to care for him the way he’d seen other parents care for their children.

Someone to hold him when he was sick or scared and someone to play with him when he was bored. Someone to listen to things he liked to talk about. Someone to care if he lived or died.

He supposed Jack was lucky. Regardless of John’s place in his life he still had Abigail for all of those things. 

John himself was still searching.

It had been almost an entire day since he’d eaten. Forgoing breakfast to make sure there was enough food for Abigail and Jack. The scarcity of meat was starting to become a real problem as a lot of the gang started to complain loudly that they were hungry.

Pussies.

John thought bitterly as he slopped a small portion of stew into his bowl. He’d gone without food for longer than he’d thought humanly possible more times in his life than he’d cared to admit. He’d felt hunger pangs so painful he was sure he would die and these people whined repeatedly about missing one meal every few days.

He moved towards the fire. Loathing the tremble in his hand as he strained under the weight of carrying his small dinner. Perhaps he would be better by now if they hadn’t stopped feeding him the second he could walk. 

The shake that rattled his bones and left him breathless seemed to worsen the longer it had been since he’d eaten. He hadn’t planned on joining them all for dinner tonight. But he knew inside that if he skipped another meal he wouldn’t be alright to finish his neglected chores the next day.

He slumped down heavily on a packing crate around the campfire and took a spoonful of the liquid into his mouth. Forcing it down his throat without chewing too much to avoid the horrendous taste.

“Good John?” Pearson asked and John nodded quickly unsure if the question was about the food or his physical state. Either way he feigned perfection, holding up his hand in an ‘okay’ gesture before looking down again and staring into his food.

“Oh he’s fine.” Arthur snipped from somewhere across the fire. Pulling a tired frown onto John’s face. “Too fine and proper to stoop so low as to play swords with his kid.” Arthur added as John looked to him with a scowl. 

A small murmur moved around the fire as the other men weighed in on John’s parenting. As if any one of them had ever had someone else to think about other than themselves.

“Don’t Arthur.” John warned, turning back to his food and picking up another mouthful with his spoon. 

He swallowed thickly, his eyes darted out the small circle of people, feeling suddenly self-conscious. An outcast among thieves and murders. They were all judging him. Every single one of them. No one but himself, knowing the struggles he faced. It made him feel sick. 

He could feel the eyes on him. Staring. Judging. It was suddenly all too much. He stood quickly, excusing himself weakly and walking away from fire. Unsure exactly where he was going as his legs carried him to the edge of camp near the old tree stump he had perched on a few days earlier during his talk with Hosea.

He headed towards is, stopping just shy and deciding instead to sit down behind the large tree next to it. Hiding his body from the prying eyes around the campfire as he stared out over the tree tops protruding from the drop below.

He sighed heavily, feeling an ache in his heart as he lazily pushed his spoon around his plate. He still felt nauseous on and off. The thought of trying to add anything to his stomach making it churn uncomfortably as he wondered what was come of him.

Abigail was done. The other members, while glad he was not dead, showed indifference towards his suffering.

Thought that they could live his life better than he was.

Arthur most of all. Always so willing to judge despite their previous heart to hearts. John had spent so much time hoping after he’d opened up to Arthur at the lake that day that the other man would forget it.

But as the teasing and small jabs returned tenfold, he suddenly remembered why he had opened up in the first place. Needing someone else to understand his trials and cut him some goddamn slack.

Needed Arthur specifically, to cut him some goddamn slack. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow being cast over him. A lonesome figure blocking his view of the sunset before slowly slipping down beside him and giving him a kind smile.

“Mary-Beth.” He said in surprise. Not a greeting or a question. 

She nodded as she crossed her legs and rested her bowl of food in her lap.

“Good to see you up and about.” She smiled.

John nodded in response, unsure what to say as he swallowed down the questions of why. 

Surely she hadn’t meant to seek him out. Coming to the treeline to look out over the cliff while she ate only to discover him here. Feeling pity for him and joining him for a meal to save face.

“I was worried when I saw you walk off.” The young woman continued through his silence. “Thought you was going back to your tent but then I saw you sit down over here…” She paused, saying a lot without actually saying it. “Thought you could use some company.” She offered lightly, making John blink in surprise.

She _had_ sought him out. Purposefully coming to be by his side.

He felt a swell of emotion at the realisation. Blinking it away as he swallowed thickly and thanked her for sitting with him.

“So how are you feeling?” She asked after a moment, talking through her food in a way he hadn’t seen her do in years. He smiled at the familiarity, feeling somewhat comforted by the fact that she suddenly felt comfortable enough around him to not bother covering her mouth.

“I’m fine.” John lied confidently, earning himself a sceptical look from his dinner partner. 

“You sure?” She probed, taking another spoonful of stew and stuffing it into her mouth as she waited for a response. “You don’t seem yourself.” She added, when he didn’t respond. “Not since…” She began, cutting herself off after thinking her words through properly.

John sniffed lightly, a small smile on his lips at her candour.

“Since, this.” He replied dully, gesturing towards his face before dropping his hand back to his lap and moving his uneaten stew to the ground.

“No…” Mary-Beth responded softly, making him look up in surprise. “I mean since…” She trailed off again, the intensity in his gaze making her feel as though perhaps she should stay quiet. 

John waited, furrowing his brows as she remained silent. Shrugging lightly and encouraging her to continue.

“Since you came back.” She answered tiredly. Regret in her tone as she spoke. 

John raised his brows at the statement. Looking away for a minute before cocking his head and turning back to her. 

“It’s wrong, how she’s treatin’ you.” Mary-Beth said quietly before he could speak, causing him to frown once more. His heart racing as he tried to make sense of what she was talking about.

“What?” He asked eventually, regretting his tone as she looked to him with surprise. “Who?” He asked, stumped by the strange string of sentences.

“Abigail.” She answered, quietly. Throwing a quick look over her shoulder to the other gang members before leaning closer. John matched her, leaning in as well so he could hear her whispering. “It’s wrong, her acting as though you’re the one in the wrong.” She hissed, anger in her voice. “After what she did.” She added, John’s eyes flicking to hers as he involuntarily flashed back to several years earlier.

~~

_“Are you lookin’ for Abigail?” Mary-Beth had asked quietly, her eyes darting from his eyes towards the bouquet he held loosely in one hand and back before John was sure he had actually seen it. He never was much good at reading other people’s moods._

_“I am.” He’d nodded, a frown gracing his features as he registered the worry in her eyes._

_“Mmm.” She’d hummed in reply, looking away from him for a moment before exhaling sharply and placing her hands on her hips. “Well, she went that way.” She’d said after a moment’s contemplation._

_John looked towards the direction she was pointing, his frown deepening as he turned back to her with a questioning gaze._

_“Uh, thank you,” He’d said slowly unsure what exactly this interaction was. Mary-Beth nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response as she turned on her heel. He’d shifted uncomfortably, watching as she walked away and wondering what exactly he had done to upset her._

~~

John’s mouth fell open, looking away from her quickly as he blinked furiously at the ground in front of him. 

He’d been so consumed by the discovery of Abigail’s infidelity that he’d never truly thought back on that interaction until now. He swallowed thickly, watery eyes looking back up to meet hers as she smiled at him sympathetically.

“You told me.” He whispered, voice croaky as he struggled to hold back his emotions in front of his friend. Mary-Beth nodded gently, unable to hold his gaze as she replied.

“Someone had to.” Her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t think you’d leave.” She confessed, looking back up to him and wiping at her own watery eyes as she blinked away more tears.

“Why… Why didn’t anyone tell me before that?” John asked, fists clenched in his lap. The question that has been burning in the back of his mind for years finally being spoken and feeling disgusting on his lips.

“Honestly?” She asked, continuing after a beat. “We thought you knew.” She answered, fully aware that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

That it didn’t help.

“I didn’t.” John stated flatly, grinding his teeth together as he struggled to keep himself from saying anything else. “I…” He began, composing himself. Suddenly very aware of the open space they occupied and the proximity of the other gang members. “I felt so fucking betrayed.” He hissed. “You all knew. You were all fucking laughing.” He choked.

“No, it weren’t like that.” Mary-Beth whispered back, her hand coming to rest on his knee soothingly. He stared at it with sad eyes. “If we had of known you were unawares we would have told you.” She paused. “I thought it was strange how she went from being secretive to blasé about her clients. But then I realised that her secrecy always seems to coincide with you returning from being away somewhere. At first, I thought it respect but… after a while it ‘came clear to me.” She said softly, guilt bubbling in her chest as his hand came to rest gingerly atop hers. She took it, squeezing lightly. “I thought it strange that you would be okay with it. But who was I to meddle in the affairs of a married couple.”

“I had no idea.” John said softly, unable to say much more.

“I know that now.” She nodded. “I’m a romantic John. Seeing you standing there with your flowers… You were so sweet on her. You deserved to know.”

“Thank you.” John said after a long moment. Staring at his food with unblinking eyes. “For caring.” He added in clarification.

Mary-Beth watched him with a sad smile. John had such expressive eyes. He could try as he liked to appear aloof but they always betrayed him.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” She whispered, watching as his brown orbs flicked to her momentarily before he straightened up and looked at her with a smile.

“It’s fine.” He said simply. “Long time ago now… I’m over it.” He lied, looking back to the ground in front of him and silently begging her not to call him on it. 

She nodded sadly, knowing full well his statement was a lie. The way he had reacted at the mention had been telling enough even before his eyes had begun to water.

“Anyways, I’m sorry everyone’s being cold to ya’. I just think no one really knows what to say after the accident.” She explained meekly. John took the change of conversation greedily and ran with it.

“Hmm.” He hummed in agreement. “When people do wanna’ talk to me they say the wrong thing.” He admitted softly. “You’re looking better. Scars look raw. Don’t overdo it John.” He mocked. “Like a need a damn reminder how weak and ugly I am.” He grunted. “And Arthur…” He added with a groan. “Arthur, always teasin’ me.” He spat, shaking his head. “I can hardly take his bullshit no more.”

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind!” Mary-Beth chided gently. “He’s got his own troubles. He’s just riling you up to entertain himself.” She explained. “Besides, I think the scars make you look distinguished.” She giggled. “You got a story to tell and it can be anythin’ you want. Don’t have to be the truth. Don’t that sound fun?”

John chuckled lightly. He’d never thought of it that way.

“I guess.” He answered after a second. “You think people would believe I got them fighting a shark?” He asked with a smirk, making her laugh. 

“Is fighting a shark more impressive than fighting a pack of wolves?” She snickered in reply. 

“You’re the woman, you tell me.” He asked with a laugh. Feeling lighter than he had in weeks at the banter. “Which one would make you go home with a guy?” He asked candidly. “Or is there another animal that does it for you?” He grinned. 

Mary-Beth laughed heartily, placing her spoon to her lips and feigning indecision before answering.

“Maybe a lion.” She said slyly, making John bark.

“Ain’t no lions out here.” He exclaimed with a laugh.

“Well you ain’t gotta’ tell people you got them scars here. Maybe you’re an exotic traveller that has seen the faraway lands. Maybe you’ve fought wolves, sharks and lions.” She said softly before gasping. “Oh! All at the same time.” She added, giggling dreamily.

John felt the stitches in his lip pulling hard as he smiled wider than he had in a long time. His cheeks ached from using muscles that had been unattended for months. 

He’d really needed this. Someone to talk to and laugh with. Someone to take his mind off his anxieties instead of fuelling them with judgement and nasty comments.

He smiled at her, their eyes locking momentarily as she grinned back. Both of them looking away quickly as John mourned something that would never be. 

He loved her like a sister. He knew even if he wanted to try that there was no way he could see her as anything more. But inside he wished he could have fallen for her instead. She was so sweet and innocent. Not manipulative or cunning like Abigail.

But he supposed the grass was always greener. The wonder and innocence that he admired in her would surely grow tiresome after time. He was a cynic, and he didn’t fancy shattering her perceptions or dreams furiously and repeatedly. 

He hated the thought of being the reason that she stopped smiling.

Still he was glad for her company as a friend. Knowing he could just chat without the looming threat of a deeper talk made his chest feel light and airy. 

She was not judging him like the others, and he was eternally grateful. She’d even tried her best to make him feel better about the scars which had made his heart leap momentarily even if he didn’t truly believe her.

It was nice to have a friend. 

~~

Abigail scowled at the couple under the tree on the edge of camp. Her fine features pinched menacingly as jealously threatened to make her do something she’d regret.

Instead, she stayed put. Thrusting her needle roughly through the fabric she was mending and taking out her anger on the thread.

She waited as patiently as she could for the pair to part ways. Only giving John a minute or two alone in his tent before storming across camp and pushing her way inside without announcing herself.

“You look like you’re having a good night.” She snapped, scaring the crap out of him as she spoke out of nowhere. He hated how jumpy he had been since the attack.

He looked up at her from his place on the edge of his cot. Leaning down to remove his boots before muttering his reply.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He asked, shaking his head as he placed his shoes beside his bed and used his hands to help his injured leg up onto his mattress.

“You enjoy your little dinner date?” Abigail asked snidely, making John role his eyes.

“Trust you to be spyin’.” He spat tiredly. “It weren’t like that.”

“Then what were it like John?” Abigail asked pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest at the way his heavy sigh heaved his entire body.

He didn’t reply. Not wanting to argue any more than they already had. He was tired of arguing. Sick of fighting. A moment ago he was feeling pretty happy. Riding the high of having someone finally validate his feelings about all the things that transpired a couple of years ago.

He couldn’t do this right now. He would say something he’d regret and he was sick of doing that. Sabotaging any small chance at happiness just because he wanted a conversation to end. Because he needed to have the last word.

“Please Abigail. Just let it go.” He begged tiredly, sitting cross legged on his bed and letting his hands fall to his lap.

“You should be making plans to better our lives, not flirting.” Abigail snapped, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at him condescendingly. John snorted at what she’d said, smiling involuntarily at the notion.

“I told you it weren’t like that. She’s like… a sister or somethin’. It ain’t romantic.” He said unconvincingly as he suddenly found himself unable to wipe the smile off his face. Abigail glowered at him, raising a brow at his expression. 

“You was laughing up a storm about something.” She replied haughtily.

“You jealous?” John asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked to her with a shit eating expression. “Thought you didn’t care if I lived or died.”

Abigail felt her cheeks heat at the question, feeling flustered under his gaze as she took a step towards him and pointed a finger in his face. 

“No!” She lied fiercely, making John’s smile fall. “Why would I be jealous of her? Because she’s getting’ to listen to your bad jokes?” She asked in disgust as John finally looked away.

Abigail felt relief as he removed his gaze. The relief being replaced by guilt almost immediately as she watched the way he shrank away from her. Picking at his hands in his lap as he sat in silence and waited for her to get to the point or leave.

“You got a point or did you just come in here to yell at me again?” He asked softly, not looking up as Abigail felt herself ruffle at the accusation. 

She didn’t have a point. But knowing that didn’t do anything for her temper. Him knowing that she didn’t have a point made her irritated. As though he’d bested her somehow. 

She didn’t answer. Weighing up her options as she tried to decide if it was worth admitting that she _had_ been jealous or if it would be better for both of them if she simply used the opportunity to talk to him about something else.

John finally looked away from his hands. Running them along his thighs as he always did when he was nervous. She wondered if he knew that he did that or if it was unconscious. She felt bad for him as she met his eyes. Sadness radiated from them in the way he looked at her.

“Just go.” He said quietly. Flexing his fingers against his jeans before clasping his hands together once more and looking away from her.

Abigail found herself sitting unconsciously. Something about his vulnerable state drawing her in and making her plant herself firmly on the bed in front of him. He watched her, tilting his head in confusion and reminding her of a stray dog being offered food.

“We need to talk.” She murmured. Her own hands running along her skirt as she smoothed the wrinkles in an effort to avoid his eye contact while she spoke. “About us.” She clarified, surprising John with her candour.

“Okay.” He replied simply, waiting for her to start with his heart in his throat.

He held his breath involuntarily. Maybe this was it. Maybe she was actually going to apologise.

Just maybe they could start to go back to normal.

“Look John, I know you’ve made your mistakes…” Abigail began, making him balk at her choice of wording. “But, I think I can move past them if-”

“Me?” John asked irritably, letting go of his breath and cutting her off. He folded his arms over his chest. It was so like her to want to talk about their relationship and dive straight into his wrong doings. “What about you?” He asked incredulously, earing himself a glare.

Abigail felt her hackles rise at the attack. Not able to see how her words had attacked him first.

“Yes.” She answered hotly. “You.” Ignoring the question he’d posed to her.

John glared at her, exhaling a calming breath and gesturing for her to continue if only to hear the rest of her sentence.

He definitely wanted her to move past his mistakes. But not at the expense of him being forced to move past hers without an apology. He had bent over backwards to show how sorry he was for leaving. Apologised more times than he could count and never once expected her to acknowledge her own mistakes. It was her turn now.

“You’ve made a lot of mistakes since we met and I’ve overlooked them all.” She continued, inducing rage in John’s heart as he recalled his earlier conversation with Mary-Beth. She had started it all back in 86 and she had never even acknowledged that fact let alone apologised for it. In fact, she had framed it as doing something to help him. Earn them both extra money even though he’d never seen a cent of it.

“My mistakes.” John growled bitterly, not wanting to hear any more. “You talkin’ about yourself? Or were you referring to Jack?” He asked, tone dripping with venom as he watched Abigail’s mouth fall open in shock.

John smirked, satisfied that he had managed to cause her even a fraction of the pain she’d caused him in the last few weeks. “Bet I’m one of your mistakes too.” He continued, liking the feeling of being the one in control. “Luckiest mistake you ever made.” He spat, brown orbs penetrating hers with a piercing glare. 

Abigail closed her mouth, swallowing audibly in the heavy silence. John watched her, the virtuous feeling fading slowly as he realised he had rendered her speechless.

He’d never won an argument with her in his life. It was a hollow victory. The look of shock on her face dissolving into hatred and malice. Making the confidence he’d felt in himself dissipate fast. 

“Well, if that’s how you see us.” Abigail whispered calmly, her lips a thin line as she glared at him pointedly. “Good thing we ain’t married.” 

She stood, exiting the tent without another word and John closed his eyes against the hurt. He knew he had fucked up. He had known as soon as they'd formed in his head that he would regret the words. Knew as they were leaving his mouth and still feigned obliviousness. Dipping his tongue into the pool of self-righteousness lapping at it happily if only for a quick second. 

The notion that he deserved better, clouding his judgement as he’d barked venomous words at her. Words that did not at all reflect his actual feelings.

Words that caused more harm than good. Words that ultimately hurt himself more than they could ever hurt her. 

He’d begged her to leave it alone. He knew himself too well.

Luckily, she didn’t care about him anyway. He hadn’t made that much of a difference to his situation. She was only in this for the money and the protection. She would never make herself an honest woman and actually marry him if he’d asked. He knew that and still the words stung, leaving him feel breathless as tears formed in his eyes and he let them spill over freely. 

He loved her so damn much and she kept him along for the ride if only to torture him repeatedly.

John fell back onto his cot. Holding tight onto his pillow as he wept openly. Knuckles white as he pulled the fabric against him. Clinging to it as if it could offer him some semblance of the comfort he craved. 

He was so tired of fighting. Tired of loving people with his whole heart and never being handed anyone else’s in return. 

Tired of living.

He realised, a sob escaping him as he pressed his face into the soft fabric of his pillowcase. 

Hosea wanted him to make plans for them. Set things up to give his family a better life. But he just wasn’t sure he could ever do that. Even if he wanted to. He was just not capable. 

He thought maybe he should start making plans. 

Plans to give Abigail and Jack a chance at a happy life. 

Plans that didn’t involve him.

~~

John didn’t remember falling asleep. Tears and gasping breaths had followed him until well past midnight.

Eventually he had passed out without realising. Making the dreams of being chased, caught and ripped apart all the more vivid. 

He stared at the pillow in his hands as he tried to force himself to rise for the day. Hoping to hell his eyes weren’t still red rimmed as he was sure he had been crying in his sleep as well. 

He might be healing well physically but he knew from experience that the trauma of his attack would probably never fully leave him. It was a long road to healing mentally and he wasn’t sure he ever really had healed from any of his past trauma.

He’d just gotten better at not reacting to his triggers. 

John scrubbed his face in his hands as he sat up. His body aching to his bones as he steadied himself against gravity and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. 

He needed to get back to fixing the wagon he’d abandoned the day before. He was already behind schedule and sympathy for his situation was fast running out. 

He’d already resolved not to eat breakfast. But damn he needed a piss and maybe a cigarette while he was at it.

He stretched out his sore shoulder, taking a moment to poke at the tender spots where claws had gauged at him before putting on his coat and exiting his tent.

He made a beeline for the edge of camp. He never used his chamber pot unless he was ill or injured. Sometimes if they were squatting in a house he would use it if he was too lazy to walk all the way outside. But it was rare.

He strolled towards the trees, his name catching him off guard at Dutch addressed him from a table not too far from his tent.

“So, John.” He called, stopping him in his tracks as he turned to look at the older man. He hadn’t been expecting the other to acknowledge him. He’d barely spoken to him since Blackwater. Dutch looked to John expectantly, as if he was waiting for the younger to reply. When John stayed silent, he continued. “I was talking to little Jackie.” Dutch continued, making John sigh. Of course this was about Jack. “That’s a fine boy you got.” The older man said knowingly, bringing his cigar to his lips as John looked to him with tired eyes.

“If he’s mine.” John replied, stressing the _if_ as Dutch took a drag of his cigar. Exhaling sharply and looking to the younger with exasperation.

“Course he’s yours.” Dutch said with arrogance. John looked away, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes. It was so like Dutch to pipe in where he wasn’t wanted. Give unsolicited advice and act like John was a fool for not taking his word. “It’s the truest of gifts, a child.” Dutch stated pointedly as if he, himself had ever even entertained the idea of becoming a Father. “Yet you push him away.” The older man finished, feigning surprise and hurt on Jack’s behalf.

John looked back to Dutch in exasperation. Huffing a breath as he grit his teeth to keep himself from saying something he would regret.

“I ain’t no kind of Father.” John said after a moment. Shrugging as he shook his head at the situation in general. “I wish the boy no harm but…” He paused, struggling to think of a good reason for his behaviour that didn’t rely solely on Abigail. “Well, you know how we live.” He finished unceremoniously. Not sure he’d really made his point as Dutch’s brows furrowed knowingly.

“We live free.” The older man said softly. His tone dangerous, as if he were daring John to say what he really felt. To speak against him and his ways. John swallowed his tongue, grinding his teeth and forcing away the scowl that threatened his features.

“If you say so.” He replied simply. Taking his leave and striding confidently away from the older man. “What the fuck?” He whispered to himself as he reached the tree line.

Eyes flicking back to see if the older man was still watching him. 

He wasn’t. Already involved in a conversation with Lenny.

John sighed, moving into the taller grass and unbuttoning his pants. Relieving himself as he thought back on the strange interaction.

‘Course he’s yours.

The words echoed in John’s head as he shook himself dry and buttoned his pants. He fished in his pocket for a cigarette. Flicking a match against his boot and lighting the end of his smoke before dropping the match at his feet and stamping it out with his good leg.

‘Course he’s yours.

John scowled at the horizon. Feeling a mix of resentment and guilt bubbling up inside him as took long drags of his smoke and thought about the past.

He was sure Jack wasn’t his. He didn’t know much about making babies aside from the basics of how it was done. But he knew enough to know that Abigail had given birth to a healthy, happy newborn near’ two months too early for that baby to be his.

The world they lived in was cruel and for a band of outlaws living in the outdoors, middle of nowhere it was absolutely ruthless.

It was a horrid thought and it churned his stomach. But babies born that early just didn’t survive. Even the wealthy folk with the best doctors money could buy lost their babies when they came early like that. But for them, in the life they lived… Jack had no damn chance being so premature.

No one had seemed as panicked as he was when Abigail’s contractions had started. Susan had ushered him out of his tent and Arthur had forced him to stay away from the commotion. Reminding him constantly that men were not allowed in the birthing room.

It wasn’t proper.

He’d spent the long hours that Abigail was labouring, wearing a trail in the grass from his pacing backwards and forwards. Rapidly swapping between emotions and eventually settling on grief.

He had just wanted to see his baby once before he died.

To John’s genuine shock, the baby was healthy. Good weight, lungs like an athlete’s and no problems feeding.

That was when he’d realised.

Holding him for only a minute before handing him back to Abigail and leaving to think things through. A different kind of grief shattering his heart as he forced down a bottle of whiskey. Trying desperately to dull the pain tugging and scratching at the inside of his chest.

He couldn’t decide which was worse, the burglary or the long con. Stealing his heart and then blatantly tricking him into taking responsibility for a child she knew was not his.

He hadn’t slept well that night. Sleeping separate from Abigail for the first time since they’d made their relationship official. He gave her space to bond with the baby while he laid out under the stars and looked to his future with sad, despondent eyes.

That was the first time he’d thought of running.

But after a long night of cold misery, he’d found himself shuffling back into their shared tent. She had asked him where the hell he’d been. Cranky and fatigued from lack of sleep and sore from labour and birth.

He’d taken the baby from her. Sitting with him for a long while so Abigail could get some much-needed rest. 

He’d stared at that kid for way too long. The cheeky bugger sleeping right through Abigail’s nap and acting a dream for his Daddy.

John loved him. He’d realised, calloused hands softly stroking over the softest skin he’d ever felt. Jack’s little eyes twitching as he did so. His little lips sucking on air as he searched for his Muma’s breast.

John didn’t want to give him back. Protective over the small bundle when Susan had arrived and told him it was time for Abigail to feed. 

He’d eventually relented when Abigail had awoken and looked to him with soft eyes. Arms outstretched as she waited for him to hand her the baby. A small smile quirking her lips at how enamoured he appeared to be already.

That alone had solidified his decision. As long as Abigail loved him, he didn’t mind that the kid wasn’t his. He would raise him as his own and love him like no other. 

That wasn’t to say that if Abigail were to fall out of love with him that he would suddenly stop loving Jack. But not knowing how Abigail truly felt about him even now… It certainly made it hard to bond with the boy. 

John took one last drag of his smoke before dropping it under his feet to join the match. Grinding it into the wet dirt with the ball of his foot before sighing heavily. The smoke he exhaled clouding his vision momentarily as he stared at the discarded cig.

That was about how he felt at that moment. Crushed into the mud under the sole of some poor sap’s boot. 

Trapped between leather and the earth. 

Suffocated by the notion that he should man up and do what was considered right.

It made him want to run.

John exhaled shakily once more. The heaviness in his chest a little hard to shake after diving so far into his past. He’d pushed a lot of those precious memories to the back of his mind and rarely revisited them. Something he would come to regret when he was older.

He walked back passed Dutch. The older man was spitting some bullshit about Lenny’s Father that John didn’t care to weigh in on. He doubted Dutch knew anything of the hardships Lenny’s parents had endured but still he felt educated enough to talk on the subject.

John wasn’t sure at which point in his life he had realised most of the inspirational, educated, ideologies Dutch liked to preach were pure horseshit. But it hadn’t been all that long ago.

Probably around the time he had realised that the older man considered himself extraordinary enough to speak on John’s paternal efforts despite the fact that he was sure Dutch knew that John Jr should never have been named as such. He was not John Marston’s son.

He had always resented Dutch for that.

John moved past Dutch and Lenny quickly with a confident stride. He’d learned early on that people that dawdle were eventually asked to weigh in. God rest the poor soul who felt it paramount that they move past the pair behind him.

John found himself stifling a laugh as he heard Dutch announce loudly that Arthur would back him up. His eyes flicked behind him. Sure enough the burly man had been standing not too far away, hands on his belt as studied them both with weary eyes and shrugged noncommittal just to make Dutch happy.

John couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been there. Standing not too far away from where he had finished his smoke.

~~

John had almost made it all the way back to his tent without being called upon. Having spent the morning performing menial chores and quietly wishing he was back to sitting on his ass, nursing his sore leg.

The grass was always greener he supposed as he wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to swallow away some of the dust from his dry throat.

“Listen John.” Abigail had started before he’d even registered she was there. Scaring the crap out of him for the millionth time this week as she had rounded the corner of his tent and began talking pointedly as if they were already in a conversation. “You and me is one thing.” She continued, unphased by his confused frown as he tried to wonder where the hell she had come from. “But would you at least try to make an effort with the boy?” She asked pointedly, John’s frown deepening as he opened his mouth to speak.

Where was this coming from? He wondered, as he struggled with something to say. When the hell did everyone get so hung up on his relationship with Jack. Was she only asking because of the comment he had made the night before? Did she actually believe he thought Jack to be a mistake or had she overheard his conversation with Dutch?

He hesitated, fumbling with trying to find the words as Abigail raised her brows in question. John felt his chest begin to tighten again. His breath coming short and fast as he realised just how suffocated all this Jack talk was making him.

He wanted her to go away. To leave him alone and stop asking so many damn questions. But he didn’t know how to make that happen. Any resistance at all was always met with shouting and more fucking questions.

He just needed it to stop. Needed her to shut the fuck up.

“If it will shut you up…” John began strong. Pausing for the briefest of seconds to catch his breath before continuing. “I’ll try.” He said, softer. “But, fathering ain’t nothing I know about.” He said firm but calm. Hoping to hell that she took the win and left him to be alone for a bit.

Abigail looked to him with what he could only place as derision. Shaking her head for a minute before answering back sarcastically. 

“Here’s a hint.” She said, rudely. “Act like you ain’t a selfish, bloodthirsty moron.” She griped. Making his jaw clamp shut and his fists clench by his sides.

“You mean lie.” He replied rather quickly, feeling justified in his mockery after her insult. Abigail growled angrily, her own fists clenching as she exhaled sharply out of her nose. 

“Ugh.” She rumbled, face red as she struggled to hold back all the things she wanted to say for Jack’s sake. “Shut up!” She shouted angrily, storming away from him and finally allowing him a moment of solace as he slipped into his tent and closed the door.

He slumped onto his bed, hand rubbing absently at his chest as the tightness returned. He swallowed, his mouth feeling abruptly dry as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

His breath began to come in short bursts. Not quite enough air to fill his lungs and yet just enough to keep him from passing out. He felt faint. Light-headedness making him blink in rapid succession as he tried desperately to calm his breathing.

He clawed at his chest unconsciously. As if somehow that would slow his racing heart and allow him to breath.

It was all too much for him in that moment. Every anxiety he had about the entire situation with Abigail and Jack seemingly rearing its ugly head at once. His fear that others would outcast him for declaring the fact that he was not Jack’s Father. The responsibility he still felt for the boy. The love. It suffocated him. Choking him out as he fell backwards onto his cot and fisted his hands in the sheets. Staring at the roof of his tent and silently screaming for his lungs to stop trying to take in breath.

For his heart to finally explode so he could be at peace.

This was certainly not the first panic attack John had ever endured in his short life. But it had been a while since his last. The last he was fully conscious for anyway. He couldn’t be certain what he had gone through in Colter. It was all such a blur.

Regardless of how many he’d been through he never got used to it. Hated each one as fiercely as the next and every time without fail. He wished for it to end in death.

He forced himself to think, eyes darting around the tent to look for things to focus on as he tried in vain to relax. 

Staring down the roof of his tent and concentrating on the colour. He’d always liked green. The colour of the trees was more appealing to him than ugly dark colour of his tent but thinking about the colour and transitioning from his tent to all the pretty plants he’d seen in his life helped to keep his mind busy.

The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the door to his tent and he concentrated on it intently. His Father used to drink tea and John had hated it with a passion. Coffee was his preferred beverage. He’d found no matter how sullen he was feeling upon waking he could always perk himself up with the prospect of freshly brewed coffee.

John felt his heart rate begin to drop and before he knew it he was breathing normally once again. White knuckles letting go of his blankets as he wiped his sweaty hands on the front of his pants. 

He placed them together on his chest. Feeling the rhythmic thud of his heart as he finally relaxed, and his head stopped spinning.

He wondered if Abigail would feel bad if she knew how often she’d sent him into a panic attack with her words. 

He would never tell her. The true name of the phenomenon escaping him. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to explain it if he tried. 

The attack he’d just experienced had been particularly ferocious. It always was the ones he didn’t see coming that hit him the hardest. The most mundane thing seemingly tipping him over the edge and forcing him to hide from the world while he sorted through his emotions.

He’d been through so much the last few weeks. Surely anyone with a rational mind could take one look at him and understand he just needed a break. A break from the accusation. The hounding. The yelling. 

A break from living.

He thought again, eyes stinging as he willed away tears he didn’t deserve to let fall.

Jack didn’t deserve being lumped in with the likes of them. He certainly didn’t deserve to be stuck with John as a Father when there were other options.

The thought killed him.

Sucked the air from his lungs and made his eyes burn.

Someone like Arthur.

John took another deep breath. Bringing his hands to his face and covering his eyes with his palms in an effort to stop the tears. 

Why was he so damn weak all of the sudden? Why couldn’t he just grin and bear it anymore?

It seemed the floodgates had opened and they had no intension of closing any time soon. His injury had fatigued him mentally as hard as it had physically. The new trauma piling on top of the old and threatening to take him out.

He didn’t want to lose Jack. Didn’t want to lose Abigail. He just wanted everything to go back to the way they were years before. Before he had walked in on Abigail cheating and changed the course of both of their lives forever.

He was always the first to blame his friends. Lament the fact that they didn’t tell him. As if he would have believed them if they had. As if that would have made it any better. Any easier. As if, not seeing it with his own eyes would have been less painful.

He filled his own head with delusions of being able to get past it if he’d known earlier. Telling himself he wouldn’t have left. They could have moved on.

Sure he would have been pissed off for a long while. 

Hurt.

But he wouldn’t have retaliated by just plain disappearing and Abigail would have never had a reason to be mad at him.

He’d told himself that for years now. Because even though he knew deep down it probably wasn’t true it made it easier. It made it someone else’s fault and not his. 

Not Abigail’s.

It was all their fault, and they were bad friends for not telling him. Bad friends for judging him when he left. Bad friends for trying to force him into being a Father to Jack when they all knew the truth.

Arthur was the worst of them all.

Waiting on the sidelines like a hungry shark for him to leave or die. Ready to snap up _his_ kid and _his_ woman. 

“All you do is judge without knowin’ what you’re talking about!” John had yelled at the other man once.

“I know if I had a woman like Abigail I wouldn’t let her go.” Arthur had replied simply, making John’s blood boil.

“You marry her then!” John had shouted. “You want her so bad, you take her. She sure as shit wouldn’t mind!”

John growled irritably at the memory. Of course, he’d never meant that. The thought of Arthur making Abigail an honest woman when that was all he’d ever wanted to do for her made him want to vomit.

Arthur taking his place as Jack’s Daddy. Making the kid happier than John ever could.

John swallowed audibly. Running his hands through his hair.

He’d never wanted to push Jack away in the first place but the thought of pushing him into Arthur’s waiting arms was infuriating. 

The older man played the part of best friend, confidant and brother so damn well.

But John knew the truth and it ate at him every single day.

If it weren’t for Javier, Arthur would have left him to die.

John pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of his cot and resting his forearms on his knees as he stared at his boots.

Thinking.

He had promised Abigail he would try with Jack. If only to get her off his ass. But something inside him had broken at the thought of someone else making the effort he had been avoiding.

He wanted to keep his family. Never wanted to let them go in the first place.

“Alright.” He whispered to himself, running a palm over his face tiredly and kicking up grass in frustration. “I’ll try.”

~~ 

John seemed to wake screaming a lot more often than he used to. Sharp claws and fangs dripping with blood were a hard image to shake as he tried to get dressed and go about his day. He wondered if perhaps it was getting harder or if he was just more exhausted.

Standing by the kitchen fire and trying to enjoy his morning coffee he had suddenly begun to feel a sense of anxiety wash over him. Looking around slyly he’d caught sight of Dutch not too far away. The older man had locked eyes with his briefly and left John feeling uneasy.

He knew without it needing to be said that he’d been laid up for too long. Dutch wasn’t usually one to allow so much rest. He supposed the older man had felt bad for him. With the permanent disfiguration looming over his head. He was in a rockier boat than anyone had been in a while. Besides those who had died obviously.

God rest their souls.

John wasn’t sure what his plans had been for the day. Other than perhaps trying to broach a conversation with Jack. Not that a chit chat with a four year old needed that much planning.

John emptied the rest of his coffee into the grass and returned to his tent to grab his things. Heading towards the horses and spying Old Boy standing alone at the edge of the paddock.

An outcast just like his Daddy.

John chuckled at this thought. Just like him to claim a horse before a human. He walked towards the old gelding. Smiling when he was greeted excitedly. The horse placing his entire face into John’s chest roughly and exhaling. John patted his face, feeling the pull of his stitches as he couldn’t help but contain his grin. It was nice to feel missed.

“Hey.” He said softly, running large hands over dark fur before taking a step back and dropping his saddle back on the ground next to him. He knelt down, fishing around in it for his grooming brush and ducking his head quickly as Old Boy nipped at his ear. Huge head bumping John out of the way as he sniffed for treats in the bag. “Jesus, wait a second.” John laughed, pulling something from his bag and standing with it behind his back. 

The horse ignored him, pressing his nose eagerly into John’s saddle bag and chewing at the rest of the treats John had abandoned. 

John watched it happen. Feeling bad that he’d barely seen the old guy since Blackwater.

“Help yourself then.” He mumbled in amusement.

Old Boy finished his treats, looking back up to John quickly and bumping at the arm he still had held behind him. John pulled it forwards and revealed one last treat hiding in his palm. The horse took it gratefully and John wiped the slobber onto the side of his pants with a snicker.

Once Old Boy was sufficiently assured that there were no more treats, John moved beside him and took out his brush. Apologising quietly that he hadn’t been strong enough to groom him in quite a while.

Someone had been tending to him though. John realised as he brushed away a thin layer of dust and pushed the animal’s mane out of his face. He wondered who had done him that kindness. 

John ran the brush over Old Boy a few more times than he probably needed to. Procrastinating leaving the camp by telling the gelding about his adventures.

He’d had a strange feeling on the morning of the Blackwater heist. An unsettling feeling in his guts that screamed at him to leave Old Boy behind. He had done so without thinking too much about it. Taking his monogrammed saddle and placing it on Abigail’s horse Chestnut.

She never really cared too much for the animal. Liked her well enough but never went anywhere or had time to ride her anyway. John had bought Chestnut for her after Jack was born in case she needed to get out in an emergency and he wasn’t around. She’d never had a horse of her own before that.

“She um…” John hesitated at the climax of his story. Stroking Old Boy’s mane softly as he exhaled a shaky breath “She didn’t make it.” He explained, feeling guilt bubble inside him at the memory. He had abandoned her to save his own life. He would never forget the sounds she made as she was eaten alive.

Old Boy let out a comforting whinny. Not understanding a word John was saying but feeling his pain through his body language all the same.

Old Boy had gotten on well with Chestnut. John felt bad for him, having to lose her.

“John?” Abigail called suddenly, bringing John back to attention. 

No. 

No no. He just wanted to leave. To get out of there before she woke up and cornered him about spending time with Jack. He was going to do it. He was going to keep his word. He just needed to make some damn money first.

Get one person off his back so then he could focus on another.

“Hey John?” Abigail asked again as she drew closer. He turned to her in a huff. Not meaning to sound so aggressive as he asked.

“What do you want?”

Abigail balked at the way he had spoken. Still not used to being dismissed by him so readily. He threw her off. Made her angry in a way she couldn’t describe. The disrespect he showed for her as he looked to her lazily from his place beside his horse.

“Is that how you speak to me?” She asked incredulously, folding her arms across her front as she geared up for an argument.

John sighed softly, not wanting to fight but unsure how to get himself out of it.

“I guess it is.” He said after a moment, shrugging as she took a step towards him. Visibly seething at the disrespect as her face contorted into one of anger and hostility.

“You miserable scotch sack of shit!” Abigail screamed, catching him off guard at the sheer volume in her voice. The way she’d gone from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could have done to avoid the fight if he’d tried.

Her open palm on the other hand.

John recoiled, hand flying to his face as he looked to her in shock. She had wound herself up, slapping him hard on his unmarred cheek and causing him to stumble. 

He recovered quickly. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists as she turned away from him. His fight or flight had been activated and it took all his self-control to not strike her back. 

He would never hit a woman. Right from the beginning even his abusive Father had taught him that wasn’t right. Something John laughed at when he’d looked back and remembered all the times he’d been hit over the head as a child for something trivial.

But his instinct was to protect himself. When a punch was thrown, he threw one back. He had to physically hold himself back from fighting her. Not out of a want to hurt her, but a reflex to past trauma.

He watched her retreat. Choosing to hurt her with his words instead as he shouted. 

“Nice tongue you got there lady!” 

John turned back to Old Boy. Forcing himself to calm down.

“Sorry about her.” He whispered bitterly as he placed all of his grooming supplies back into his bag and took someone’s saddle from the hitching post without asking. 

He needed to get the fuck out of there.

~~ 

John had spent long enough in Valentine to get the information he wanted. 

He’d Hitched Old Boy by the saloon. Apologising to him softly as he’s walked down to the stockyards to pose as a worker. He didn’t want his horse in sight and raising suspicion if anyone asked who he belonged to. John would surely have to claim him, lest he be taken away for sale. John didn’t fancy stealing him back.

He’d picked up a shovel and spent a good portion of the morning mucking out stalls in order to be closer to the men that ran the show. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty for good info.

After overhearing word of some sheep coming down from Emerald Ranch for an auction in a few days he had smiled to himself and began to formulate a plan. Letting the shovel fall from his hands roughly as he simply walked away as if he’d never been there.

He headed to the Gunsmith. Needing to check the prices on a sniper rifle if his plan was going to be a success. 

The man behind the counter had been arrogant and rude. Assuming John to be no good trash and treating him as much without provocation. He was right of course. But John didn’t take lightly to the accusation. The encounter ended in a shouting match as John took out some of his frustrations at Abigail on the poor shopkeeper. Ultimately ending in his getting banned from the store.

He would have to get Arthur to buy the rifle. 

Lucky. 

John thought to himself as he stopped to the general store. He didn’t have the money for one anyway.

The bell tied to the door jingled as John walked through the entrance. He greeted the shopkeeper. Heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor echoing through the small shop as John picked up the few things he needed. Replenishing his stock of treats for Old Boy and stopping to look at the candy.

John had always had a sweet tooth, as far back as he could remember. He was partial to a chocolate bar although he’d only ever really had the luxury a few times in his life.

But at this moment he wasn’t looking for himself anyway. He was looking for Jack.

John pulled a bar off the shelf and inspected the wrapper. Placing it with the things for his horse and taking one last look around before paying and returning to Old Boy.

He fed the horse another treat as he reached him. Pulling the paper bag away from him roughly and placing a finger on his nose.

“One.” He chided, putting the rest into his saddle bag and mounting up. Old Boy huffed in disappointment. Letting himself be led out of town and back to camp.

~~

John hitched Old Boy back to his post and put the borrowed saddle back where he’d found it. Taking his saddle bags back to his tent and placing everything he’d bought in its rightful place among his things. 

He pulled out the bar of chocolate he had bought for Jack. Turning it over in his hands before stuffing it in his coat pocket and counting his last few dollars.

John wasn’t under any illusion that gifts would magically repair his relationship with Jack but he felt it could at least be a good starting point. An apology for the way he had treated him a couple of days earlier and a catalyst for a conversation. 

But first he had to find Arthur. Fill the other man in on the info he had heard at the stockyards and ask him to be his second for his plan. 

He didn’t really fancy spending time with Arthur at the moment. Something about the way he had evaluated his situation with Abigail had been niggling at him for weeks now and to think before Blackwater he had started to think perhaps their relationship was returning to normal.

But if he had to choose only one other person to help him with the sheep he knew it had to be Arthur. As much as he despised that fact. There was no one else he trusted enough not to fuck it up and he didn’t want to ask more than one person for help. He desperately needed a whole half of the money to himself.

John strolled the camp leisurely, keeping an eye out for the burly man. Arthur hadn’t even risen yet when John had left in the morning so he doubted the other man had gotten himself together quick enough to leave camp while he was gone.

He didn’t have any work that John was privy to. So he should be lazing around somewhere. No doubt waiting for John to say or do something stupid so he could pounce.

After a full lap of the overlook John returned to the horses. Frowning when he realised that Arthur’s horse was in fact missing from her usual place by the boundary. 

“Dammit.” John whispered to himself, flexing his cold hands and placing them in his pockets as he stared at the empty plot and wondered what to do now. 

His hand bumped against the chocolate in his coat and he sighed to himself. Figuring God was probably trying to remind him of his promise.

“Right…” He muttered under his breath. Turning back to the camp and scanning it for Jack. He couldn’t see the boy immediately but that never worried him. He was good at hiding. His small stature making it easy for him to blend into the long grass.

John took another lap. Feeling frustrated when he didn’t come across Jack either and ended up back at the horses. 

Something inside feel uneasy. He turned towards Abigail’s lean-to. Trying his best to not show outward panic on his face as he strolled towards her, hands still in his pockets to hide the way they twitched nervously.

Jack was pretty clever for his age. Showing more signs of possessing common sense than John ever had as a child. But even the most intelligent kid could fall over the edge of a cliff by accident.

“John.” Susan greeted as he passed her running a wet rag over the table towards the edge of camp. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She chuckled, her words pulling him from his pace and stopping him in front of her.

“You seen Jack?” He asked simply, jaw tensing as she nodded. 

“He just rode out with Arthur.” She smiled girlishly, as if that were the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. “I think they went fishing.” She added, turning back to her chore and missing the way John’s face fell before contorting into one of outright rage.

He growled under his breath, fists clenched in his pockets as he turned away from her and stomped towards Abigail.

“Where’s Jack?” He shouted as he approached her. Giving her a chance to explain that Susan was wrong or perhaps even to lie to him. Abigail startled at his question, looking up from her sewing in surprise.

“Arthur took him out fishin’.” She confirmed after a long moment. 

John stared at her. Unable to process what exactly he was feeling inside as he continued to stand in front of her blankly. Abigail watched him cautiously. She’d had no idea how he would react when he found out that Arthur had gone out with Jack. But if she’d had to guess, she leaned heavily towards thinking he wouldn't care.

“What the fuck?” John asked softly, his voice no more than a whisper as he resisted the urge to come up swinging. “What the fuck?” He screamed, taking a step towards her when she didn’t answer immediately. 

“He was bored!” Abigail justified, her voice rising much faster than she would have liked. John really knew how to rile her up and yelling was a sure-fire trigger.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” John shouted, pointing his thumb at his chest as he held back all the things he wanted to scream.

“I saw you riding out of here after our fight you selfish bastard!” Abigail shouted back, rising to her feet as she advanced. “Trying to shirk your responsibilities to the boy again!”

“My responsibilities?” John asked, relatively calmly considering the rage he felt inside. “My responsibilities?” He asked again after a moment, this time only an octave off shouting. He couldn’t believe the gall of her to still be putting that crap. It had been years and she was still so adamant that Jack was his. 

Loudly and publicly adamant. 

“You told me you’d try!!” Abigail shouted back, hands on her hips as other gang members slowly started to crowd around.

“You didn’t even give me a chance!” John yelled back, throwing his hands up in a defeated gesture. “First thing today he’s already gone!” He growled, placing his hands on his own hips. “I don’t know what you want from me, woman!” He admitted.

Abigail scowled at him from her place a few feet away. Taking in the anger in his stance and the frustration in his voice. She had believed John would try with Jack until she’d spoken to him earlier. She’d been going to ask him to do something with the boy before he rode out. But then he’d spoken to her in such a disrespectful way. She’d lost it. Abandoning all plans to help him and leaving him to work it out himself.

She’d felt guilty afterwards. Not for John but for Jack. He was desperate to spend time with his Dad and bored out of his damn mind since they’d moved camps. She’d asked Arthur to do something with him to alleviate her guilt more than anything. She honestly hadn’t considered how John would feel about that or maybe, a more accurate way of saying it was that she didn’t care how John would feel.

Part of her wanted to hurt him. Slapping him had been so damn satisfying after everything. But it hadn’t been enough. 

John watched her struggle with her inner turmoil. The thought of her struggling to find something to say only angered him further. She had purposefully put him in this position. Forcing him to resolve to try and then taking away the opportunity when he didn’t snap it up immediately. She didn’t just want him to work with her. She wanted him to do the things she wanted, when she wanted and how she wanted. There was no in-between with this insufferable woman. 

“I’m sick of trying for you.” John said softly, recognising the words instantly as a lie. He would never stop trying to make her happy. But maybe if she thought he would, she would cut him some slack. Or at the very least give him some goddamn peace from the nagging.

Abigail screwed up her nose at his words. Stuck somewhere between feeling bad for him and wanting to hit him again. He was an arrogant son of a bitch… But he did a lot for them. Even after all the ways she’d hurt him in the past.

“You wasn’t gonna’ try anyways.” She spat venomously, against her better judgement. Feeling the need to get in one last sting and watching as his hands balled into fists.

John found himself shaking. Anger and frustration built to boiling point as he struggled to get his hand into his pocket amidst the trembling. He pulled out the bar of chocolate, throwing it towards Abigail’s midsection.

She yelped as it hit her skirt somewhere near her thigh and fell to the ground at her feet.

“For Jack.” John hissed. Feeling the eyes of the other gang members on him as he turned to address them all. “What the fuck are ya’ll lookin’ at?” He shouted, making them jump back to action and pretend they had not been staring.

Abigail bent down to pick up the candy as he retreated. Feeling a stab in her heart as she studied it. John was broke as hell after weeks of being laid up. But he’d still gone out of his way to buy something for Jack while he was in town. Even after she’d hit him.

Maybe he really did want to try. Despite her cruelty.

She looked up from the bar, feeling tears well in her eyes at the realisation that she had made a huge mistake. Possibly setting John’s relationship with Jack back by getting too involved. She just loved the boy so damn much and wanted what was best for him. 

“John!” She called, wanting to apologise. He turned to her from his place halfway across the camp. Narrowed eyes trained on her as he watched and waited. “I… I’m sorry.” Abigail said weakly. Suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable as she offered her olive branch.

“Fuck off Abigail.” John spat viciously, turning away from her once more and leaving her fuming.

~~

John had spent the rest of the afternoon alone. Seething and damn near exploding at anyone that tried to talk to him as he went about his chores. The other gang members had learnt quickly to give him a wide berth and he’d been grateful. Not wanting to talk to anyone about anything until he’d heard Arthur’s horse returning up the trail to their campsite.

He’d watched from a distance as Arthur had loaded Jack back onto the ground and had a quick word with Abigail. He’d seemed tense in his stride as he left her. Walking confidently towards Dutch’s tent and ducking inside without knocking.

John had frowned, wondering what the hell Arthur had to say that could be so urgent. But he pushed that thought aside. More urgent matters at hand as he crept closer to Abigail and Jack and tried to hear what they were talking about.

Jack seemed happy.

John realised, feeling hurt bubble to the surface as he watched his son exclaim something excitedly to his Mother. Jumping about and holding out his arms wide as he retold the story of the fish they’d caught. 

Abigail was grinning at him. Listening intently and replying with shocked expressions where appropriate. 

They both seemed happy. 

Much happier than he could make them.

The thought gnawed at his gut painfully.

It was late after dinner when John finally approached the fire. Sitting silently amongst the other men and folding his hands over his lap as he stared at the way the flames danced.

Arthur sat to his left. Staring into the flames himself with a beer in hand. Taking a sip every now and then as they all sat in what appeared to be a comfortable silence. 

John had been trying to sleep for hours now. He hadn’t eaten dinner. Not able to stomach it after the day he’d had. But a biting loneliness ebbed through his chest as he tried and failed to fall into unconsciousness.

He hadn’t felt so damn stupid in a long time. Not since he’d found out about Abigail’s infidelity. 

He needed Abigail and Jack more than they ever needed him. He willingly gave them both all of himself for so long with nothing in return. Money, food, clothes, love, company. He forced it all upon them both and griped when none of it was returned. If only the last two on the list. The things he longed for most of all. He could have been happy.

But they didn’t need him for any of that. The camp took care of them. Arthur took care of them. John knew if he were to disappear again that they would both be fine.

But they acted as though that was far from the truth. Keeping him tethered to this earth with nagging and complaints. Asking for him to stay and never actually giving him a reason to.

So John ventured from his bed. Sat by the fire with the intent of just being near other people. Sitting amongst a group even if no one spoke just so he didn’t have to feel so lonely and foolish anymore. 

“Alright John?” Javier asked softly, sensing the need to vent in the other man. John nodded solemnly. Not really feeling as though he wanted to get into it. None of them would care anyway. 

If they did care they sure as hell wouldn’t understand.

John thought bitterly. He was not the only person in this camp that had ever been in a partnership. In fact, he was not the only person currently in the camp that was in a relationship. But everyone else’s relationships just seemed so simple.

For the men anyway.

Dutch just had to holler and Molly came running. Back before Bessie died, Hosea worshiped the ground she walked on and she returned that love just as fierce. 

He hadn’t seen all that much of Mary even after Arthur had asked her to be his bride. But he had seen enough to know that even the strongest of men could turn to mush at the touch of a woman. Arthur had been the softest he’d ever seen when that woman was around. He hadn’t even teased him when he’d fallen in front of them once. The ‘Marston is useless’ joke nowhere in sight as Arthur had rushed to help him up like a perfect gentleman. 

But then she’d broken his heart and he had doubled down on the teasing to make up for the time he’d missed.

John looked around at the other men by the fire. He had something that they all longed for and he was no better for it.

He was miserable.

“Listen to me.” He said softly, heads turning in his direction as he clasped his hands together between his knees. “Don’t _none_ of you _never_ go do something stupid and get yourself a woman.” He lamented. “You hear me?” He asked, shaking his head at the small chorus of understanding. They’d all seen the argument this afternoon. “Trust your old uncle John on this one.” He mumbled, taking a second to think. Anger and frustration at his situation taking hold and letting slip words he didn’t think himself capable of. 

“And if you got one.” He began angrily. “Get rid of em’!” He shouted. “Go drown em’ in the goddamn ocean because trust me boys its your or them.” He clarified. “You or them.” He repeated, licking his lips as he continued. “They’ll kill you.” He said quietly. “But they won’t do you the kindness of slitting your throat.” He vented. “They will slowly grind you down into dust with the nagging and the demands and the complaints!” John ran his hands over his face as he spoke. Placing them back between his knees and wringing them together nervously. “You will die the most painful death imaginable and that’s this. The slow realisation that you would rather be _dead_ than listen to her crap for a moment longer.” He said flatly. “And if you knew you could kill her and get away with it, you would. Trust me on that.” He finished, blankly. Staring into the fire and not truly registering the claims he was making. The gravity of his words lost on him in a moment of complete candidness. 

He swallowed thickly. Turning as he was nudged in the arm and gratefully accepting a drink offered to him by Javier. He took a swig. The silence around the fire deafening for a long tense moment until Arthur finally dared to speak.

“So…” He began light-heartedly. “Things ain’t going well with Abigail then?” He asked with a chuckle.

John glared at him with dark eyes full of evil visions of shoving his face into the fire until he finally stopped screaming and shut up for good. 

Arthur had missed their argument earlier while he was taking _his_ son out fishing. 

“Just stay out of it Arthur.” John huffed eventually. His tone dangerous as he warned the other man not to make another comment. He was in no mood to hear anyone’s thoughts on what he’d said. Arthur’s least of all. 

Arthur sniffed a laugh to himself, shaking his own head as he turned back to staring into the fire.

“Gladly.” 

Silence descended over the group once more and John relished in the feeling of comradery that came from simply sitting with his fellow man. Sure he had vented to them. But no words needed to be spoken here for him to feel included.

It was a welcome change to speaking with a woman. Being raw and honest and deep diving into all his feelings. It was good every now and then. He felt it helped him to centre himself. But sometimes he just needed to sit in silence. Have a beer and laugh at a dirty joke.

It was nice.

As if on cue John heard the crunching of boots behind his back. Sure without looking that it was Abigail ready to throw him over the cliff for what he’d said. A feeling of dread settling deep in his stomach as he realised how fucked he was.

John braced himself for a beating, surprised when it didn’t come and instead a large boot propped itself up on the log next to him. Dutch’s booming voice speaking over his head as he spoke.

“How you boys keeping?” He asked. There was a murmur of answer from the other men and John saw Dutch nod approvingly from his peripheries. “Good.” He replied, turning his attention to John suddenly and making the younger man cringe. “Those scars still pretty raw.” He commented, leaning his forearms on his knee as he strained to take a good look at John’s cheek.

“New ones or the old ones?” John asked, not too keen on the idea of letting the others think it was okay to comment on his face in general.

Dutch laughed heartily at that. If he understood John’s reluctance to speak of his new face he certainly didn’t show it.

“Well exactly.” He said cryptically, making John’s eyes roll.

A lazy laugh from across the fire caught John’s attention and he turned to Bill, questioning him with his gaze.

“Oh, Marston.” He sniggered. “You are so tough with those scars.” He snipped sarcastically. John glared at him as he continued. “How’d you get those scars John? Being tough?”

John frowned at the question. Not sure how to answer as the older man leaned back in his chair and leered menacingly. Bill had seen him at Colter. He knew how John had got those goddamn scars and yet he mocked him about it.

“I ain’t tough.” He answered softly, tensing his jaw as he refused to let his face fall into a scowl. “I’m… I’m either stupid or slow and I can not decide which.” He admitted numbly. “Either way I keep getting caught.” John said quietly, eyes flicking towards Arthur as he spoke. The older man was forever needling him for needing to be rescued. 

Dutch nodded along as John spoke. Interrupting Williamson before he could speak again. 

“We all get caught eventually John.” He said knowingly. “I guess the trick is to decide by who.”

John turned to Dutch, not understanding.

“What do you mean?” He asked simply, annoyed by Dutch’s enigmatic proverbs.

Trust the older man to turn Bill’s insults into a teachable moment. 

“Seems like you’ve been getting caught by a few things.” Dutch said softly. “Not just wolves and knives.”

John swallowed against his dry throat at the mention of wolves. 

“Ain’t nothing ever caught me Dutch, that didn’t want to eat me.” He replied after a moment. Still not quite catching his mentor’s drift.

“Well I think that’s the point.” Dutch said frankly. John sat back on the log, turning to Dutch fully as he searched his face for a hint of a joke. Dutch raised his brows at him. A sly smile quirking his lips as John put two and two together.

Abigail.

He was talking about Abigail.

Of course he’d heard their argument earlier. Probably heard John venting at the fire earlier as well. 

John sighed. Not really wanting to get into it with Dutch of all people. The older man had a condescending manner that made John feel small when he spoke of grand things like love and children.

“Listen.” John said irritably. “I didn’t get these scars falling over in church.” 

“Not yet you didn’t.” Dutch quipped almost immediately. Not giving John enough time to finish his thought about the rough life they lived. 

“Just what do you mean Dutch?” John asked, a hint of frustration in his tone as he refused to play along with the older man’s game. He got the gist. He knew what the older man was implying but he refused to acknowledge it. 

Abigail didn’t even want to marry him anyway.

“Don’t you be an arrogant son of a bitch John. You’re better than that.” Dutch admonished as he pushed himself away from the log and waved a goodnight to the rest of the gang. He turned back to John, leaning in close. “Love gets us all in the end. You be grateful it got you.” He finished, turning on his heel and heading back towards his tent.

He had definitely heard what John had said earlier. Feeling the need to rise above them all once more and chide John for his childishness in front of the others. 

John was used to it by now. Shaking his head at the other man’s back and turning back to the fire. Silently daring anyone to speak on the subject and glad when they didn’t. He wasn’t sure he’d have the strength he needed to haul them over the cliff anyway.

~~

It had been a damn long night after Dutch had retired. The mood lightening as Javier began to strum his guitar and everyone had begun to sing. It hadn’t taken long for the whiskey to start being passed around and John had gulped at it eagerly.

That was about all he remembered.

His eyes fluttered open in the early morning light and he stared at the blue sky with awe as his drunken mind tried to put the pieces he remembered of the night before together.

He was still drunk, he was sure. No head splitting ache or sense of nausea accompanied his waking and he wondered briefly how long he had even been asleep. They had retired in the wee hours of the morning and it only looked to be around 8am, maybe earlier.

He frowned at the sky as a bird passed overhead and he felt strange following it with his eyes. Like they couldn’t quite keep up but something else was niggling at him that being able to stare at the sky was wrong. 

He blinked a few times, confusion setting in as he realised he was not in his bed. The green canvas ceiling he usually awoke staring at was nowhere in sight and replaced by the tops of trees and an angry looking Abigail.

He jumped at the sight of her. Sitting up quickly and staring at her in question. She didn’t speak right away. Sitting on the grass with her knees drawn up to her chest. She had her arms wrapped around them and hooked together at the front while she stared at him with disinterest. 

John frowned at the fact she was voluntarily sitting in the wet morning grass. Looking down and realised he was taking up her entire bedroll. He scooted off it quickly, moving in front of her and feeling the morning dew seep into the butt of his jeans.

He couldn’t remember anything. Especially not how he’d ended up in bed next to her.

“What…” He began, blinking as his words slurred and he confirmed the fact that he _was_ still wasted. 

“Fuck off John.” Abigail whispered simply, repeating his words from the day before to him and causing hurt to flash across his features.

He knew he deserved it. But something about waking next to her had felt strangely comforting. He’d dared to hope for even a second that she had invited him to her bed and her words confirmed that to be anything but the truth.

“Alright.” He answered softly, unsure what else to do or say as his eyes travelled away from her and over to Jack’s sleeping form. He watched the boy breathe in and out a few times. A subconscious habit that lingered from when Jack was a baby. Before pushing himself up onto shaky legs and wiping at the wet grass stuck to his bum. “Sorry.” He croaked, returning to his tent as fast as possible. Slumping down on his cot and placing his head in his hands.

He felt the beginnings of a headache ebbing at the edge of his mind. Nausea beginning to set in now that he’d moved and he wasn’t about to have a bar of it. He couldn’t remember the night before and he knew deep down he didn’t want to. 

He didn’t want to remember this morning either. He justified as he searched thorough his things for the half empty bottle of whiskey he’d been given upon his arrival to this camp. To deal with the pain in leu of morphine.

John popped the cork, taking a large drink from the bottle and belching as he hit his fist against his chest to dislodge the air he’d taken in.

His glassy eyes stared at alcohol content on the label and he found himself wondering if he was subconsciously trying to kill himself. 

~~

John stared at the splintered wood of the poker table. The bottom of his bottle scraping heavily against it as he raised it to his mouth for another swig.

He sucked on the liquid as if he were parched and it was ice cold water. 

He ignored the stares of the other campers as they went about their business. Drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Things he should probably be doing instead of sitting on his ass a feeling sorry for himself. Drinking before lunchtime was generally frowned upon by folk better than them. But John justified it heavily by reminding himself that he wasn’t ‘drunk first thing in the morning’. He was ‘still drunk from the night before’.

He was aware of what a sorry state he was in. But he couldn’t particularly bring himself to care. Nothing in his life had ever gone right. Not a single damn thing he could think of brought him any sense of pride or accomplishment. Except maybe Jack and he couldn’t take any credit for that at all. Not only was he not the boy’s Father but he hadn’t really had any hand in raising him.

He looked up from his drink, glaring at some of the other men as they passed him and pulling the finger at anyone that dared to comment on his misery.

He knew he wouldn’t win any friends with his attitude, but he was hard pressed to care as he stared them all down one by one. Spending long minutes stewing on the dreadful personalities of the reprobates he called company.

John had never known a family other than this and while he was mostly grateful for their companionship he also found it suffocating. Listening to some of more despicable men speak about their debaucheries like they were something to be proud of and knowing that the general public lumped him in with them. Thought of him as the same calibre of appalling that they were just because they shared the same pot of stew.

Maybe he was.

If he’d had it his way the gang would never have expanded past Mary-Beth’s arrival.

He didn’t have anything against any of the other women. But with every good woman came two deplorable men and John had been sick of the sight of them long before Micah, arguably the worst of them all, had joined them.

He supposed if they’d moved on without taking in anyone new then he’d never have met Abigail. He couldn’t decide in the moment if that was a bad thing or not. The way she’d look at him with such disdain when he’d awoken this morning had tipped his hat towards it being a good thing. Perhaps if they’d never met he wouldn’t already be heavy on the drink at 8am. 

Maybe he would be happy. Married to a woman that cared for him with no new scars on his ugly mug. Maybe she’d be with child and he could be excited by the prospect of becoming a Father for sure. Knowing in his heart that the child was his because he could trust them not to manipulate, lie or cheat.

He licked his dry lips, turning to look in her direction. Unsurprised when she avoided his eye and kept at her work. Not paying him any mind as he made a damn fool of himself once again.

Maybe if he had listened to Maggie Macfarlane back in the west he wouldn’t be so miserable. 

If only he’d caught her meaning when she’d tried to warn him of Abigail’s ill intentions.

_“What makes you think she loves you?” Maggie had asked sceptically._

_“She told me.” John answered with a shrug. Maggie had chuckled in reply. Shaking her head as he’d asked her what was so funny._

_“You believe that for as long as you’re able.” She’d said in reply. Softer, kinder._

John hadn’t wanted to believe it at the time. So desperately clinging to the words Abigail had spoken soft against his ear the night before. He’d waited so long for her to say them unprompted as he had been doing for her since the first time they slept together.

He had been riding on a high. Pushing away any and all prospects of a relationship with someone else on the assurance from Abigail that he was loved. He was so prepared to throw away anything meaningful he’d experienced with another on her words alone. He was so damn happy, and he needed to get rid of anyone or anything that could jeopardize that for him. He hadn’t even thought about it that hard. Just riding to town and telling Maggie that they could never be.

Looking back now he understood his haste. He’d never experienced a high quite like that in his life. She was the first to ever say it and he knew deep down that she would be the last as well. 

He wasn’t sure right this minute exactly how his life would end. But he knew one way or another Abigail would be the only person in the entire world to ever tell him that she loved him. 

If he had to put money on a reason for that feeling he would bet on his untimely death. Whether by sickness, accident, another's hand or his own. He still wasn’t sure of that either. 

However it happened, he knew he would die alone.

John stared across the camp at the fire. The solemn look on his face attracting attention as Uncle stopped by to pat him heavily on the back.

“You’re four sheets to the wind John.” He laughed, nearly knocking John from his chair at the force of his affectionate tap. John looked up to him, turning in his chair to face the older man. A wry smile spreading across his lips as the old drunk leaned down and winked. “Still unsure if you’re drunker’ n’ I am though.” He chortled, making John laugh despite his misery. 

Alright so they weren’t all bad.

He quite liked Uncle even if he never outwardly showed it. He was funny and loud and a lot cleverer than anyone ever gave him credit for. He was an old drunk and John often wondered how he’d made it to his age with one hand always wrapped around a drink. But he was family.

Uncle left him be and John felt his mood lighten slightly as he smiled at the grass in front of him. Swaying dangerously atop his packing crate as he turned his attention back to the fire and the people surrounding it.

His eyes settled on Karen. Her back to him as she spoke to Javier. She waved a cigarette wildly as she spoke. Other hand resting on her cocked hip.

He couldn’t hear what she was talking about. But he found he didn’t care. Watching her in amusement as she ranted. Probably about poor Susan.

Karen was a hothead but all in all she was a lovely person. He had heard from Mary-Beth that she had returned from Valentine with a black eye after some piece of shit assaulted her. Although apparently she was not to be pitied as she’d given the guy a run of his money before Arthur had stepped in and finished him off.

He admired her tenacity. Always had. Although he would never speak a word of it to Susan or Abigail.

He wasn’t sure exactly what her relationship with Abigail was. They barely spoke it seemed but when they did it was about important things or at least things John deemed important. Like his love for her.

He scowled at the memory. The way Abigail had shrugged so nonchalantly at the question of if she loved him or not. She had so callously broken his heart just hours after making it feel full for the first time in his life. Karen had listened on in excitement as if she was being read one of Hosea’s stories.

“At least he’s cute.” John had heard Karen say before the blood had rushed to his ears and he had gone completely numb.

At least someone had thought he was cute.

Before the scars.

He corrected himself. Wondering half-heartedly what she thought of him now and if he ever truly would have had a shot with her or if she was just humouring Abigail.

John glowered at Karen’s back. His eyes trailing up her torso to her mop of blonde curls. The sunlight shining off them reminding him of someone else. 

His gaze lingered as he took another sip of his drink. Eyes flicking back down and settling on the roundness of her ass in that burgundy skirt she always liked to wear. Hiked up to her thighs and revealing her bloomers to the men as he strutted about camp, confident none of them would take advantage of her.

John wouldn’t be so confident if he was a woman. Not with the way he heard the men talk about them.

Objectively he thought she was a gorgeous woman. He’d never really had a chance to speak to her as anything more than an acquaintance due to the fact that she joined after Abigail.

He was fine with that. He didn’t lust after her as some of the other men did. But had she propositioned him when he was single, he certainly wouldn’t have turned her down. 

He was single though. He reminded himself bitterly. Abigail had made it clear that they were not married. He was nothing to her but a big fat mistake and he wasn’t sure she would ever want him to be more.

He wondered how she would feel if he ever actually tried his hand at finding someone else’s affections. Someone here in camp this time where she could see it happening and know he had other opportunities. See the way they looked at one another and know she either had to hold on tight or let him go.

He still wasn’t sure if she’d known about Maggie. He’d had a hunch from the conversation he’d overheard but nothing was specific enough for him to know for sure and besides. He had no damn idea how she would ever find something like that out. He sure as hell hadn’t said a word. 

Not wanted to admit that his attention had momentarily strayed from her even if he did not do anything about it.

He wasn’t a cheater like her.

He assumed it was just a hunch on her end as well. She’d always said he had expressive eyes. He wondered if maybe something in them had told her he was going to see another woman that night when he left camp.

Karen turned suddenly, dropping her smoke on the ground and stamping it out with her boots. Her toned leg slipping out a little further from her skirt than John felt appropriate as he watched on hungrily. 

He felt a little shameful for objectifying her but shoved it down roughly as she strode in his direction. He caught her eye as she approached him, offering her a smile that she returned in kind.

He wasn’t a cheater. It wasn’t cheating to get to know someone over a drink.

John held out his hand suddenly, lashes fluttering as heavy eyes blinked in bright sunlight and she stopped in her tracks to frown at him.

“What?” She asked with a giggle, stopping a few feet away and turning her full attention to him. 

“Come.” He said simply “Have a drink with me Karen.” He offered, gesturing towards himself and rolling his eyes as she scoffed at him.

  
“I’m okay for now.” She laughed light-heartedly, turning away and trying to move on. John chuckled under his breath. 

“Oh.” He said incredulously. “My company’s not good enough for you?” He asked in mock offence. Karen laughed at that, turning back around to face him fully.

“No.” She chuckled. “But-” She began, being cut off as John continued.

“You’re too fine and... mighty.” He mocked, laughing at his own words and missing the change in her demeanour. She strode towards him haughtily. 

“But, Abigail.” She said firmly, leaning in close to get her message across and yelping as she was pulled down onto his lap. John smiled to himself at the thought of Abigail watching, leaning in close and purring as Karen pushed against his shoulder.

“We ain’t married you know…” He whispered as Karen shoved him hard.

“Get off of me!” Karen exclaimed, her push making him lose his balance. He fell back against the table as she rose to her feet. “You’re bein’ an idiot!” She shouted, making John cackle loudly as she looked him over. Shaking her head slightly, face scrunched in disgust as he continued to chuckle.

She had no idea what had gotten into him. 

She stormed off, leaving him to lean heavily against the wooden table. Head lolling from side to side as he cackled maniacally at his own stupidity. 

He hoped Abigail was watching. He wasn’t sure their relationship could get much worse. Giving someone else attention could really only make it better.

That’s how his drunken mind played it anyway.

He sighed heavily, still chucking as he looked up and caught Arthur standing nearby with a disapproving stare. Of course Arthur was present. He rolled his eyes once more, figuring he may as well ask before he was told.

“Am I bein’ an idiot?” He asked casually, unable to hold back his drunken smile.

“Yes.” Arthur answered tersely, before turning away and leaving John to his own devices.

John snorted at the reply, laughter once again bubbling over as he pulled himself into a proper sitting position at the table. 

He felt he’d finally gone off the deep end. Nothing made sense to him anymore. Everything was funny. Perhaps this was what it was like to lose your mind.

He sighed, long and loud. Licking his lips as they curved into a grin around the neck of the bottle before he took another swig.

“I thought so…” He said softly, knowing somewhere in the rational part of his mind that Arthur was long gone and he was talking to no one. “Thought so…” He repeated, resting his forehead on his arms and closing his eyes in the darkness of his own shadow.

He was suddenly jolted from his slumber by a rough hand to his bicep. Being pulled from his chair and landing hard on his ass as he gurgled against emptying his stomach from the shock of the fall.

“Get up you degenerate.” Susan snapped at him, her shadow casting shade over John’s body as he winced up at her and raised his hand to cover his face from the sun. He couldn’t make out her expression but he could tell she was mad from the way she spoke to him. She was usually much gentler. “Get up!” She snapped again, clapping her hands together in a warning to hurry up as she gestured with her head for him to follow her.

He obliged to the best of his ability, dragging himself up and using the table as leverage before he stumbled after her. She led him to his tent, stopping outside to wait for him and shoving him inside roughly when he reached her.

John stumbled, falling against his bed and grunting at the pain that shot through his bad leg as he landed on it hard.

“Stop your whining!” Susan chided as she followed him inside. Helping him as he tried in vain to pull himself up once more. His muscles felt like jelly and his head would not stop spinning. 

He really was pathetic.

“You need to sober up.” Susan warned, shoving a canteen of water into his hand after helping him onto the bed. John took it without much thought, struggling to get the lid off.

Susan sighed, snatching it back from him and undoing it before handing it back and sitting down on the bed next to him. It had been a long time since she’d sat on his bed with him like this. Not since he was a boy.

He looked to her with sad eyes. Blurred by the wetness he didn’t want to be there.

“You’re in pain.” Susan said softly, making him blink. “I can see that plain as day John.” She whispered, hand reaching out to stroke at his face and wipe at his eyes.

He leaned into the touch unabashedly. His drunken state dulling his senses of what was appropriate and awakening his need for comfort and closeness. “But others can’t.” She said urgently, pulling her hand away and placing it in her lap. “Others are startin’ to talk.” She said as gently as she could manage. Desperately wanting him to get the picture but also afraid of furthering his suffering by speaking of the gossip.

“Let them talk.” John mumbled, syllables melding together as he forced the words out of his mouth. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been this plastered. It had to be years. 

“I don’t rightfully think it’s best if they do.” The woman chuckled, shaking her head at his foolishness. “The drink’s got you thinkin’ one thing but I know you John. You’ll regret it once you’re in a right state of mind.” She said firmly. Knowing full well John was not capable in this moment of making decisions that affected his future. 

Karen had told the other women what John had done almost immediately. Pissed off at being fondled against her will and annoyed in general at John’s blatant disrespect for Abigail. She’d grown to like the plucky brunette and she wasn’t about to be the reason that her husband stopped trying. Besides, she had Sean to worry about. If he was even still alive.

Grimshaw had listened to the story, tight lipped as Tilly and Mary-Beth had giggled at the gossip. She’d only waited a moment before ordering Karen to get back to work. Annoyed she was even standing around in the first place. 

She’d found John sleeping against the poker table and shaken her head in disappointment. Filling up a canteen of water and a small bucket and dropping them in his tent before shoving him on his ass as punishment. 

She wasn’t exactly Abigail’s biggest fan. But the man loved her, that much was clear and she would hate to see him ruin any chance he had at happiness with her for a one night stand with someone as uncouth as Karen. 

“Wash your face.” She ordered sternly, gesturing to the bowl she had left earlier. “Do not come out of this tent again until you’re sober. Understand?” She asked in a tone that was not to be argued with. John nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “You will apologise to Miss Jones for your lewd behaviour as well.” She added, a warning attached to the order as she stood and bid him good day. 

John watched her go. Taking a sip of his water and staring at the grass as he tried to ignore the empty aching in his chest.

He was so sick of being alone. But by the same token he just couldn’t with Abigail anymore. Every time he tried he ended up back in the doghouse and more hurt than he was before. He wanted so desperately for her to love him. 

For anyone to love him.

To spend one day of his miserable life feeling as though someone actually cared for him. Truly cared beyond wanting him to provide for them, do their bidding, be their partner in crime or be intimidating enough to keep others in line.

Susan cared. He knew she did. But her heart was stone after suffering her own misfortunes in life. She would never open it to him as she had for others previously.

At least she tried though. More than could be said for any of the others. His wife included. 

  
  


~~

Abigail had watched on in amusement as John had pulled Karen into his lap. Stifling a giggle at his idiotic behaviour and smiling vindictively when he’d been blatantly rejected.

“Good.” She whispered under her breath, smirking to herself as she returned to her work. One eye flicking upwards every now and then to make sure the moron was still breathing before Susan finally dragged him away.

She’d also chuckled when he’d fallen. Feeling justified for laughing after how horrible he’d been to her the day before. Karma was fighting him on her behalf, and she was loving it.

She supposed she should be more insulted by the fact that John was openly hitting on another woman. But his drunken state had never done his common sense any good and besides, she had a hunch it was only for her benefit.

Also, if she was being completely honest she couldn’t bring herself to care after the way he’d acted last night. 

She knew where his heart laid, and it was firmly in her pocket. Even if he did find Karen attractive it would have been purely physical. He was unabashedly, over the moon in love with her and he hadn’t been afraid to talk about it.

John had shaken her awake roughly at around 4am. Pulling her from a nice dream where she’d been living an honest life on a homestead somewhere out in the west. It could never be her real life, but he was nice while he had lasted.

She was jolted firmly back to reality as the smell of bourbon and cigarettes assaulted her nostrils. John leaned in close and whispered to her louder than he probably thought he was from his place in between her and Jack.

He’d forced himself into her arms. 

He had cried for her. 

Told her how much he missed her.

His words slurring together as barely formed sentences came spewing out of his mouth in quick succession.

He begged her. For what she still didn’t know. But he was adamant with the way he whined the word please over and over. 

She’d felt awful for him. Not really knowing how to handle a blatant display of emotion like that. John was usually so stoic. Quick to anger if he felt attacked but otherwise, he was pretty laid back.

She’d petted his back softly and waited for him to calm down. Unsure if even he really knew what he was talking about.

Suddenly scarred lips had crashed roughly against hers as he kissed her hungrily. She’d returned the kiss with eager enthusiasm in her sleepy state. Her body betraying her at the feeling of John so close. It had been months since they’d slept together. Heavy breathing and whispered affections making their way to poor Jack as he started to rouse and ask what was going on.

Abigail had come to her senses almost instantly. Shoving John away roughly and assuring Jack that it was nothing. John’s eyes had flashed with hurt but even in his boozy state he had understood. She let him lie next to her, sharing her bedroll as his ragged breathing evened out and he fell into a deep slumber.

Abigail had regretted pushing him away completely. It had been a long time since she’d had the chance to get off and fucking a plastered John probably would have been the perfect opportunity to get some relief without having to deal with all the feelings that came with it. There was no way in hell he would remember in the morning. She wouldn’t have had to feel like she was rewarding him for his bad behaviour.

Sexual frustration had kept her awake into the early hours of the morning. The sun was already rising, and the sky was a brilliant orange before she finally fell back asleep amidst John’s snoring. She hadn’t been out of it for that long before the clanging of Pearson’s coffee pot woke her rudely. 

She’d refused to get up completely. Sitting on her bedroll and stewing on the fact that she’d barely had any sleep. Most of the sleep she’d missed could be attributed to John in one way or another and she felt herself grow irritable with every passing second that she stared at his sleeping face. 

There was no doubt in her mind that his ranting around the fire earlier had been about her. She couldn’t hear him from where she sat but she could see the vigour with which he spoke, and she knew he was venting about their relationship. Airing their dirty laundry to all who would listen when it was no one's business but their own.

Then he had the gall or was it liquid courage, to proposition her. In front of her son no less.

She resisted the urge to kick him awake and waited somewhat patiently for him to rise on his own. Only giving him a swift jab once he’d already started to show signs of waking.

By the time he’d opened his eyes she was quietly furious. Having had enough time to think through his actions and their current situation. She was pissed off he’d tried to take advantage of her as she’d slept.

“Fuck off John.” She’d whispered. Parroting his own words back to her in an act of defiance that ultimately had her feeling shittier than she’d expected. 

He’d slunk away, presumably to sleep away his hangover while she worked on the chores she’d been assigned. She’d been surprised to see him stumbling around the camp not too long after. Making a damn fool of himself just for her amusement. 

She was a little jealous of Karen if she was being honest. It had been a long time since he’d tried anything like that with her. Forgoing all physical affection in favour of bickering and shouting. 

She wondered absently if she made an effort to be more affectionate towards him if he would calm down. If he was so highly strung lately from a lack of sexual contact or if it wouldn’t make a difference.

Abigail shook her head irritably. She was too pissed off at him to find out so there was no point in entertaining the idea.

Besides, she couldn’t be thinking like that right now. It was just like her to see John flirting with another woman and suddenly want to rip his clothes off. She’d done the same thing back in the west. She’d heard about the prospect of John having another suitor and sought to seduce him as soon as he returned to camp. To remind him who he belonged to. 

She didn’t want to be that person anymore.

The one that tricked and manipulated him into staying with her. The one that didn’t give him an option to move on. The one that didn’t tell him the truth.

John deserved better. 

She sighed shakily, screwing her face up as she pricked her thumb with her needle. Not concentrating enough on the task at hand.

She her word aside. Eyes falling on Jack’s small form playing on the edge of camp.

John deserved better. 

But so did Jack and if she had to choose between them, it was a no brainer.

~~

John had cleaned himself up after Susan’s lecture, but he had heeded her warning and stayed in his tent until he had pulled himself together. Lying in until well into the afternoon and only tiptoeing outside to steal some bread from the kitchen wagon in the hopes of settling his stomach.

He’d slept very restlessly that night. Having slept most of the previous day, he just wasn’t tired. He laid awake for hours at a time and just thought. Regretting things he’d said and decisions he’d made. Feeling his cheeks burn despite the lack of audience. 

He was a goddamn mess.

As morning came and the camp started to awaken, he left his tent bright and early. Walking over to where the women slept and approaching them bashfully. Their knowing smiles making his cheeks heat before he could even speak.

“Karen.” He greeted, tipping his hat and greeting the other women in turn. “I am, so sorry about yesterday.” He began, gesturing with his hands to somehow emphasise his point as Tilly and Mary-Beth giggled into one another's ears. Karen grinned from ear to ear at his discomfort. Cutting him off and telling him it was fine but to actually buy her a drink next time. 

She threw him a wink. Letting him know it was a joke in case he ever did feel the sense to leave Abigail on the basis that he had a chance with her instead.

John nodded his thanks, slinking away with his tail between his legs as he set out to find Abigail and apologise to her as well.

“John!” Arthur called to him, as he rounded the side of his tent and stopped in his tracks. The O’Driscol boy they’d had tied to a tree was walking next to Arthur with his pants around his thighs. Dutch and Bill were following closely behind. Joking to one another as the fella struggled to replace his britches. John raised a brow as they approached and watched as Bill tried somewhat sheepishly to discard a pair of gelding tongs. “Come on, we got a social call to make!” Arthur instructed as he passed John. Gesturing towards Old Boy who was already saddled and waiting. 

John wondered who had done that for him and where they had gotten the saddle. 

“John you take this little rattlesnake with you. Any nonsense, you kill him.” Arthur ordered firmly.

“Sure…” John replied slowly, heading towards his horse. All thoughts of Abigail and apologies suddenly out the window as his curiosity got the best of him. “He taking us to Colm?” John asked as he mounted up and reluctantly held out a hand to help the boy onto his horse. 

“If I know where we are, we’re up passed Valentine.” The O’Dricol said nervously, as he mounted Old Boy.

“Alright.” John said after a moment. “I’ll lead then.”

As the party began a leisurely trot along the trail out of camp John sniffed a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He’d only ever known how much he was supposed to hate the O’Driscols. He never thought in a million years he’d be riding with one even if it was just to get them to Colm.

“Sharing saddle with an O’Driscol.” He mused aloud. “Who’d thought.”

“How many times I gotta’ say I ain’t an O’Dricsol!” The kid behind him retorted. His breath hitting hotly against John’s neck and making him gag.

“Well you sure look like one.” John countered as saliva coated his throat. “And Goddamn, you smell like one too.” He choked, swallowing hard against the sick rising in his throat. Perhaps he wasn’t as over his hang over as he’d thought. 

“I smell like horse shit.” The kid spat bitterly, making John laugh.

“Yeah, that’s right.” John agreed readily. Letting the conversation die as Arthur and Bill started arguing about throwing knives.

Kieran, John learned. Directed them right out of camp and left at the train tracks. Talking crap about knowing this country and making John wonder how truthful he really was being.

“How you holdin’ up John?” Arthur asked suddenly, surprising the younger man.

Arthur had barely spoken to him except to needle him about his scars. He wondered cynically if it was just an excuse to make fun of him when he answered.

“I’m fine.” He answered, only half of the truth. “I still ain’t right. But I’m fine.” He added with a sigh.

“You damn well should be after all that bedrest.” Arthur teased, making John throw his head back an exasperation.

Of course.

“Hey… Alright.” John replied tiredly. “Abigail wouldn’t let me up.” He said, again only speaking in half truths. “You know her, she won’t be reasoned with.”

That part was the truth.

He thought with a chuckle as Arthur continued to poke the bear. 

“Well, when you was havin’ a failure of reason and hiding behin’ your woman. We were getting shot at.” Arthur continued mockingly. John’s eyes narrowing unconsciously as he replied angrily.

“And I’d do the same for you, if you was in a bad way.” He growled, hands gripping the reigns a little tighter than he would have liked. He wasn’t about to remind Arthur of the care he’d afforded him when Mary had broken his heart. Not in front of Bill and this random kid.

“I hope so. But I fear you don’t know how to help anyone… except yourself” Arthur jabbed.

John took a calming breath. Resisting the urge to fight back.

“You see O’Driscol.” He replied bitterly, directing his words at Kieran as he threw a look over his shoulder. “This is how he treats his _friends_. Imagine what he does to his _enemies_.”

“I got an inkling of what you all do to your enemies when you put those gelding tongs to my parts.” Kieran replied wryly, making John laugh.

Kieran directed them up past Valentine and into Cumberland Forest. Advising them to hide their horses in the trees not too far outside a small cabin that supposedly sheltered Colm O’Driscol.

Arthur had taken out the few guards on the perimeter with throwing knives and ordered John to sneak ahead to take out the last one. 

“Get your hands dirty for a change.” He had snickered, making John grit his teeth. His hands weren’t the only thing he was going to get dirty.

He hovered halfway between a squat and a crouch, his leg aching as he moved quickly towards the other man. Careful to avoid loud sticks and twigs as he repositioned the knife in his hand and approached without a sound. He reached his target and wrapped a hand firmly over his mouth. Bring his knife down into the other man’s neck several times in an aggressive display of the rage that had been building inside him for weeks. Blood sprayed from the wound onto his face as he plunged the knife in one more time for good measure. Feeling the man go limp in his grip and helping him to the ground to avoid making any noise.

“Jesus…” He heard Arthur mumble from somewhere behind him. A smirk playing on his blood-soaked lips as his eyes flicked towards the other man and he awaited more instruction.

Ultimately no matter how quiet they tried to be one of the guards was alerted. A gunfight ensued and John had relished in the adrenaline that had coursed through his veins as he heard the distinct sound of bullets whizzing by his ear.

He had suffered his fair share of adrenaline overload in the mountains and was thoroughly pleased to be sitting on his ass at camp for the first few weeks after the attack. But slowly his fatigue had worn off and he had been increasingly antsy as he longed for a good fight where no one he loved had to get hurt in the process.

He had scoured the clearing afterwards, stealing what he could from the corpses to pawn at the fence and scraping together what little cash they had to offer. He wasn’t getting paid for this job after all. It was purely to appease Dutch’s thirst for revenge. 

Arthur was livid after finding out Colm was not present in the camp. John could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to shoot the poor bastard. But after some pleading and the promise of cash he had sent him back to camp with John and Bill.

John arrived first with Bill trailing behind. The older man helped Kieran off Old Boy without being asked and led him over to Dutch’s tent. John supposed that he had reached the end of his usefulness as he watched them walk away. Hitching Old Boy to a post and retreating to his tent. They had been gone almost all day and the long ride had taken a lot out of him. The gunfight even more so. He was still healing even if he hated to admit it and he was so damn tired after barely sleeping the night before.

He just needed a quick nap.

He could talk to Abigail later.

~~

A quick afternoon nap had accidentally turned into twelve solid hours of sleep. John awoke feeling more rested than he had in a long while. Although confused and nursing a headache from oversleeping. It was about 5am and he knew this was the beginning of his day.

He stretched languidly, balking at the smell radiating from under his arms as he did so. He hadn’t bathed properly since Susan had made him a few weeks earlier. But bathing in a bucket with a cloth was subpar to an actual bath where he could fully submerge his head in water.

Riding with that stinky O’Driscol clinging to his back hadn’t helped his situation any as John gagged at the lingering smell of someone else’s piss.

He pulled on some jeans and boots and snuck out of the camp. Directing Old Boy to the river not too far below the cliffside and leaving him by a tree as he began to undress. Stepping into the freezing water and gasping as the breath was knocked out of his lungs at the bracing cold.

He froze in his place. Flashes of fangs and claws ran through his mind before he could stop them and suddenly, he wasn’t shivering due to the cold anymore. 

  
Taking a few steps back, he folded his arms over his chest and stared at the water longingly. He had been excited to feel clean. His hair was stringy and oily and sat in clumps flat against his scalp. He was sure there was still some dried blood holding some of the knots together from his time in the mountains.

But that cold. It evoked something in him. Reminding him a little too much of sitting atop a precipice and waiting for death to take him.

He took a deep breath. Knowing he had to push forward or risk fearing the cold for the rest of his life. He braced himself this time, stepping back into the river and wading in to his waist. He breathed heavily as he prepared to duck down. Buckling his knees in one swift motion and letting himself fall under the water. Emerging with a roar as he yelled at the cold as if it would make it any less overwhelming.

Old Boy whinnied from his place on the bank and John was sure if horses could speak he would be laughing. John’s teeth chattered uncontrollably as his hands fumbled with the soap he was holding. Struggling to have enough co-ordination to lather it, let alone run it over his body.

He forced himself to concentrate on the sunrise. The orange hue of the sky contrasting nicely with the dark, fog covered mountains. 

It was a quick bath but an efficient one. All the important parts had been washed and John felt somewhat more relaxed as his hair began to air dry nice and fluffy on his ride back to camp.

As he hitched his horse and joined the morning bustle and he found himself feeling a little better than he had in previous days. His heart was a little calmer and his smile a little wider as he helped himself to some coffee and sat at the table by his tent. Looking around before picking up a discarded newspaper and flipping it opened in front of him.

He hadn’t read a paper since before Blackwater. He’d missed a lot during his downtime it seemed. As he skimmed the cover alone before moving into the articles.

“Coulda’ done with a paper while I was sitting on my ass for weeks at a time.” He mumbled to himself, frowning as he zeroed in on an article that was clearly talking about their gang. 

Ruthless. 

Evil.

Just some of the keywords being used to draw the readers in. John couldn’t help but see the author’s point of view. Dutch hadn’t been acting right that day. With Micah by his side cheering him on. He had been acting like a lunatic and if John was honest. It had scared him.

John.

The ruthless, evil killer that had stabbed another man in the neck and laughed not a day earlier. It had shaken him. He couldn’t help but sympathise with the innocent bystanders that had been drawn into the gunfight. 

Just regular people trying to go about their lives and getting their brains blown out by people like him.

Scum.

That poor woman. The waitress that Dutch had grabbed as collateral. Held hostage and then murdered viciously as a means of escape for them. 

If Dutch had meant it as a distraction it had certainly worked. Distracting the fuck out of John and causing him to stand still in shock as he stared at the poor woman on the ground with half her face missing. Causing him to take a bullet to the leg before he could heed the warnings Dutch was shouting at him and move.

John wasn’t sure which was worse. The pain in his thigh or the terror in his heart as he had looked to Dutch with a question on his lips. He had been taught never to harm women or children. Never shoot at them unless they shoot at you first and even then, it was iffy territory.

Dutch had broken his own rule so blatantly and it scared the hell out of John. Left him wondering what other rules he would break spur of the moment if afforded the chance. 

“How you doin’ there partner?” Dutch’s voice echoed through his mind as he stared at the page. Frowning at the memory before realised it wasn’t one. Jumping back to reality as the man himself strode towards him and came into his field of view. John looked to him slowly, a small part of him wondering if maybe the other man could read minds as he closed his paper with a large sigh.

“Fine.” He answered after a moment. Not liking where this conversation was headed already and they’d barely spoken.

“You’ve had a run of bad luck huh?” Dutch asked coolly, as John resisted the urge to glower. “Blackwater and then uh…”

“Sure.” John answered, cutting Dutch off before he could say anymore. Not only had the man barely spoken to him since the attack but this was the first time he was referencing it besides commenting on his scars. Lumping it in with being shot in Blackwater like nearly being eaten alive by pure accident and chance was the same as Dutch blatantly putting him in danger. 

John drummed his fingers on the table as he fought against what he wanted to say and what was right.

“Was Blackwater really bad luck though Dutch.” He asked after a moment. Losing the battle against his wits and refusing to bite his tongue. “Or just you and Micah acting real’ crazy.” He added firmly, deciding against his better judgement that this was the hill he was willing to die on. 

Dutch’s smile vanished almost instantly. His voice becoming a serious whisper as he narrowed his eyes at the younger man. 

Arthur appeared to the right of him as Dutch stared him down and John wondered briefly if the other man was there to protect him or to add fuel to the fire.

“Blackwater was about surviving John.” Dutch growled, his tone dangerous as he leaned over the younger and looked to him with an expression of disdain. 

“Not for that girl it weren’t.” John replied simply. Not looking away as the older man rolled his eyes derisively and shrugged as if to say that John was not to be argued with when he was in this childish mood. 

He left as quickly as he had arrived. Leaving John staring at nothing for a long while before he turned back to his paper and tried to calm his racing heart. He didn’t often stand up to Dutch. But when he did it always left his mouth feeling dry and his palms sweaty.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, startling John as he looked up to the older man, having forgotten he was there. John stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide what to say before finally settling on. 

“I was on that boat.” He said softly, knowing full well Arthur was not and hadn’t seen what he’d seen. “I saw what Dutch and Micah did.” He said blatantly. “But he won’t admit it.” He scoffed, shaking his head. 

Arthur shrugged at his answer in the same manner that Dutch had. Leaving John feeling frustrated as much of the anxiety he had been feeling started to return to him a mere hour after leaving.

“Well you can’t change nothing now.” Arthur said frankly, giving John’s shoulder a quick tap before leaving him to his paper.

~~

John had barely been alone for five whole minutes before he heard the chair across from him shift along the dirt and he looked up quickly. Relaxing a little as he realised his companion was just Hosea.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now and the older man was usually content to sit in silence with him just the way he liked.

He offered the paper to the older man who refused it politely and just sat across from him with his hands clasped together calmly for several minutes before daring to broach his subject.

“Listen John.” He began, pulling a groan from the youngers lips as he looked up his mentor and silently begged him to please just sit quietly.

This was going to be about Abigail and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Far be it from me for interfering in your business.” Hosea began, as if that wasn’t exactly what he was going to do. John’s mouth formed a thin line as Hosea continued. “But the boy is your business.”

John sighed, closing his eyes for a second and wishing he had the strength to tell the other man to fuck off. But he loved him like a Father. More than he’d ever loved his own Father and he just didn’t have it in him to push him away.

“I know…” He said softly after a long minute. “But-” John began, intending to explain how he had resolved to try with Jack. Perhaps vent a little about how Abigail had undercut that decision by getting Arthur involved. But Hosea cut him off before he could speak any further.

“No.” He said firmly. “No buts. Dutch’s bluster aside, he’s right on this.” He said in a somewhat comforting manner. “But me… I would go a step further.” Hosea said softly, looking around him before leaning forwards and whispering. “I would say you should get the hell away from here.”

John stared at him pointedly. Hosea proved the point John had been stewing on. No one cared about his side of the story. No one had any time to hear about his feelings. No one cared about him.

Just Abigail and Jack.

“We both know that ain’t happening.” He argued. Suddenly feeling cornered.

Attacked over something he couldn’t control. Even if he did want to leave Abigail would never. She could barely even look at him these days. There was no way in hell she would choose to be alone with him.

Just them, alone as a family. With no help or support from anyone else.

No Arthur.

John thought bitterly, biting back the emotions that threatened to come forth at the thought.

He was scared to even dream that being alone with him might be something she wanted. 

He was also scared of losing his family. The only family he had ever known. Even if most of them were awful to him majority of the time. They were safety. They were home and he was scared to leave that.

He was also scared of Dutch. Terrified of leaving only to be hunted down and murdered in his sleep for betraying the gang. He would certainly kill his family as well. Not just him. 

He hadn’t thought of that when he’d left the first time and he often wondered if leaving Abigail and Jack behind had been the only reason he wasn’t hunted down. Because Dutch expected him to come back eventually.

“Now you hear me John.” Hosea began firmly, a look of surprise falling onto the older man’s face as John shouted back at him.

“I hear you, but I ain’t doing as you say!” He yelled defiantly, rising to his feet and exiting the conversation before the older man could speak again. 

John felt as though his throat was going to close. His breathing strained as he forced air in and out of his lungs at an uneven pace. The judgement and pity and everything in between was driving him mad. He hadn’t managed to have a normal conversation with a single person since he’d been back on his feet. All anyone wanted to talk about was how he was healing. What he was going to do about Jack. How fucked they all were due to Dutch’s recklessness. 

He felt like screaming. Crying. Breaking. He wasn’t sure. Something along those lines as he stomped towards his tent and threw the flap aside angrily. 

He reached for his saddle bag, snatching it and staring at Old Boy’s treats as they spilled out of it and into the mud. John felt his lip begin to twitch, hands shaking as he shoved the urge to scream down deep into his belly. 

He was one small inconvenience away from snapping completely.

His boots sank deep into the mud as he trudged back outside and began to head towards his horse. Leaving the treats to soften and rot in the wet dirt beside his bed.

“Hey.” Abigail said gently as she appeared beside him. John felt himself roll his eyes. His bad eye struggling with the strain as he looked to her with an expression that dared her to come at him about something. “Can I talk to you a minute?” She asked as he stopped walking. Glaring at her hard resisting the urge to shout.

“Not now Abigail.” He said dangerously, knowing deep down he should probably be hearing her out. Apologising to her. But not at all in the mindset to try and do so. “Not ever!” He added angrily. “Just, leave me alone will you?” He asked in frustration, slinging his saddle bag over his shoulder and trying to turn away from her. 

“You’re pathetic!” Abigail retorted angrily. “You’re a pathetic man John Marston!” She shouted, pointing her finger in his face before turning and storming away from him. 

John felt something inside himself snap. He ground his teeth together hard. Fists clenching and popping his knuckles as he swung his arms out and shouted after her.

“Don’t I know it!” 

Before stamping the rest of the way to his horse and flinging the pack over his back. Forgoing a saddle as he unhitched the gelding and pulled himself up onto his back.

It was only fucking 8am and he had already had enough of this day. His heart in his chest as he directed the horse out of camp and in the opposite direction to Valentine. He wasn’t sure where he was going but it wasn’t town. He just needed to get away from these people. Away from the suffocation of expectation and judging eyes. 

He was a woeful excuse for a man and there wasn’t a day that went by where someone didn’t remind him of that fact.

He rode through the bush down beside the cliff and towards the river. Figuring a bath had made him feel somewhat better earlier in the day. Maybe dipping his toes in the water would have a small fragment of the same effect if he took a moment to let himself calm down.

He walked Old Boy through the trees for a few more minutes, surprised when he came to a clearing not that far off the river. A few old broken-down buildings stood shakily on their foundations. They looked to be abandoned for a few years now. Half of them burnt out and the others simply rotted from neglect. 

John stopped Old Boy just short of the first building. Sliding down off his back and giving him a pet as he ventured inside. Boots slipping on the unstable flooring and pieces of broken hardwood that had been strewn about. This building hadn’t just been burnt. Someone had attacked it in an all-out assault.

John placed his hands on his hips, looking above him at what was left of the second story and then around the room itself. A sly smile plucking at his lips as an idea came to mind.

He looked to the floor. Nudging a large rock with the toe of his boot, surprised when it moved from its place. 

  
He bent down to pick it up, turning the stone over in his hand and inspecting it closely before taking aim and throwing it across the room at one of the broken glass windows.

The glass shattered further under the impact and John felt his lips quirk at the sound. He looked around him, picking up a loose floorboard and holding it with one hand. Swinging it experimentally in front of him like a baseball bat.

He smiled to himself, taking a deep breath and swinging the board against the nearest post. Grinning as the splintered wood cracked and broke away.

He swung it again, this time directly at the wall. Frustrated as his makeshift bat crumbled under the impact and left the wall with only a small dent. He chucked the broken wood aside. Hands curling into fists as he balanced on his bad leg and kicked hard at the wall in front of him. Boot splintering the wood under his weight. 

He breathed heavily, taking a second before kicking it again. Cracking the boards completely and crying out as they gave way to his boot.

He turned, picking up the nearest piece of debris and hurling it hard across the room. Only watching for long enough to see it bounce off the wall before he was picking up another. Throwing the second harder. The third already in his hand as the second piece landed noisily.

He threw the third, screaming as he did so. A primal howl ripped from his lips as he stormed towards the broken glass window and punched right through it. Ignoring the sting of the glass on his wrists as he shouted once more. Screaming incoherently at nothing in particular as he let out all of his anger and frustrations as his situation. 

“AH!!” He screamed, hands balled in fists by his side as he shook with pure rage. His heart in his throat as he picked up another rock and pelted it against the wall. Boots scraping against broken wood and glass as he stomped around the small building. Stopping every now and then to kick at the broken furniture or swipe something off a surface with his arms.

He screamed until his throat was hoarse. New cuts and bruises littering his hands and arms as he punished himself along with the inanimate objects. Showing no regard for his own safety as he hacked away at the support posts of the small building with a discarded chair leg.

Eventually he began to calm down. Exhaustion creeping in on his freshly heeled body. His arms and legs shaking with exertion as he started to become aware of his surroundings and knew he needed to relax.

He was far enough from camp for them to not hear his shouting which was a good thing in theory. But if he was to be ambushed in the state he was in right now; they would not be able to be called on for aid.

John took a deep breath, glaring at the carnage he had caused in the already ruined room. Shattered glass was strewn from one corner to the next and sunlight filtered through the new holes he had made in the walls.

He slowly chucked his chair leg aside. Hitting the ground with a small thunk as he turned and walked away from the mess. Reaching the doorway and stopping to look over poor Old Boy grazing in the grass not too far away.

He wasn’t ready to go back yet.

Slowly he slumped himself down. Leaning hard against the broken wall and falling to his ass with absolutely no grace. Wincing as he pulled some broken wood out from under him.

He rested his forearms on his knees. Staring at nothing in particular as he let his thoughts wander. Feeling a lot better after taking the time to destroy something other than his own life.

  
He thought of Abigail. 

He always did. She was the first thought on his mind when he awoke in the mornings as the last before he fell asleep. It had been that way for years now. She truly was his everything and his heart was broken at the prospect that he had fucked it up for good.

No matter what he did, she didn’t seem to respond positively. It was like he could not win in any situation. Like she didn’t want him to win.

He wondered deep down if that was the case. The reason for her hostility being that she wanted an excuse to leave. The ambiguity in the things she asked of him were just reasons to push him away when he didn’t act correctly. 

The thought made him feel sick. But he knew there was no way in hell she’d ever admit to that being the case. She was kind to others but when it came to him she was cold and cruel. She never would cut him off the line and let him be free. Stringing him along under the guise of doing him a favour. Because to leave him would break his heart. So to keep him there with just enough affection to make it worth it was a prize he should be grateful for. Rather than just biting the bullet. Letting him hurt for a while but then ultimately being happier in the end.

He just wanted things to go back to normal. If there ever had been a normal between them. She had never truly told him how she felt about him. Dancing around the words he so desperately wanted to hear and replacing them with similar sounding but ultimately less meaningful substitutes.

“I love you.” John always whispered.

“You too.” She had always replied.

It had taken him so many years to understand the difference in the statements. The declaration he was offering her versus the acknowledgement of hers. 

He’d told her he loved her many times over the years. Sometimes clear and forceful and others weak and pleading. She seemed adverse to responding. Like doing so and truly meaning it would burn her tongue.

She seemed to pride herself on never outwardly expressing that she _didn’t_ love him. Like there was a huge difference between never telling him that she loved him and never outright saying the words “I don’t love you.” 

As if John yearning for it for years on end and never hearing it said with true sincerity didn’t sting just as much as it would if she outright said she didn’t.

He’d only heard her say it twice and both times he’d been so bloody drunk he had started to think it a dream. Both times a hollow attempt to stop him from doing something stupid. It was not said out of genuine love for him or even concern for his safety. But for Abigail to save face. To not have to be humiliated that her own husband had left her. Whether by suicide or for another woman. She could not take the mortification his actions would inflict on her.

To be left by John Marston of all people. Someone as naive as him. As dumb as rocks. It was an embarrassing thought. To be left by someone that didn’t know any better. 

To be left by the exact type of person to fall in love with a whore.

John sighed heavily, pulling his knees closer and resting his forehead on his arms. Staring at the dirty floor he was sitting on as he wished he were sharper with his tongue.

He couldn’t argue to save his life. He couldn’t express himself even if he wanted to. Being under pressure to say the things he was thinking made him clumsy. He sounded stupid as he fumbled around with words that weren’t quite right. The end result being an echo of what he actually wanted to say. Like a speech written in synonyms. It had a point that could be understood but it was not at all convincing without the correct words in their places.

It would never rally people or inspire anyone to feel something.

He wished he were more like Dutch. Able to gather his thoughts and present them to the other campers in a way that calmed everyone’s frayed nerves and reassured them of their safety.

John lifted his head, having a moment of epiphany as he realised that perhaps he could be just like Dutch. He may miss some of the eloquence and grace in the way he spoke and the words would certainly be a lot more simple.

But he could be like Dutch.

He had once been left to wallow alone in Dutch’s tent after coming to him with a complaint that was dismissed quickly by the Patriarch. 

He had been left to his own devices inside the privacy of Dutch’s lavish tent and that was when he had seen it.

A piece of paper and pencil stuffed half haphazardly under the older man’s pillow. Naturally John had snooped. A part of him wanting to find something embarrassing that he could share with his fellow campers in spite of the old bastard.

But to his disappointment it was just a bunch of words that made little sense to John. Something about prevailing and getting stronger. He hadn’t read the whole thing. Leaving disappointed and not thinking about the paper again until a couple of days later when Dutch had gathered them around the fire for one of his classic speeches. 

John couldn't help but snicker as he heard Dutch recite the passage he had read in his tent. Realising suddenly that perhaps what he had stumbled upon was more embarrassing than he had given the old man credit for. Dutch prided himself on speaking on the fly. Acting as though he was improvising and sounding for all intents and purposes like a real intellectual by doing so.

But he wasn’t. It was all a facade. John had realised as he listened to the older man talk incessantly and wondered just how many hours Dutch had spent reading over the speech alone and memorizing the lines to seem intelligent to the other gang members.

John pushed himself up from his position. Walking outside and over to where Old Boy stood under the shade of a large tree. The horse looked up to him as he approached, nickering softly. John ran his hand only the large animal’s side as he headed for the saddle bag.

“Not ready quite yet boy.” He mumbled, searching through his things for a pad of paper and a pencil.

He made his way back to the building, slumping down against the wall outside and placing the pad in his lap.

If he couldn’t tell Abigail how he felt on the fly, perhaps he could write it down. It was no secret that she couldn’t read. So he would have to read it to her. Whether he did so off the paper or memorized and recited it like Dutch did.

He didn’t have high hopes for the latter. But thinking that maybe he could was enough to move his pencil. 

~~

Sadie Adler liked to break things.

She had always known that she could not control the unpredictability of life. But she could swing an axe. Shoot a gun. Listen to the crunching sound wood made as it shattered under her blade or listen to the ping of a can as the metal collapsed under her bullet. 

She liked to listen to the sound of glass shattering as she threw stones at it with all her might and right at this point in her life, that act had become her favourite pastime.

Destroying the abandoned town of Lipani one room at a time had become a somewhat satisfying activity for her since the gang she’d joined up with had camped out at Horseshoe Overlook. 

She had ventured off on her own for a bit after a few days of listening to the women whinge about being clothed and fed. The men, whining just as much as the women but about the women. The fierce leader that had saved her life sprouting nonsense about salvation.

It had all become too much.

That was when she had found her sanctuary. The small burnt-out town looked to be abandoned years before. The buildings barely standing, with broken in walls and crumpled floors. Ruined furniture had been upturned in the years since it was occupied. No doubt by scavengers such as her gang.

There was nothing left of interest to them there. Nothing worth noting or speaking about with the gang leaders. But to her, it was heaven.

Several old buildings with walls that cracked under the forced of her boot. Windows still covered in uncracked glass and old burnt furniture that needed to be thrown forcefully against the ground.

She loved it there.

She doubted anyone even noticed she was gone. No one missed her presence in the camp and she was grateful for it. On this specific day she had left before the sun rose. Walking the distance as she didn’t have a horse and watching the sunrise from the upper level of one of the broken buildings.

She had always loved watching the sunrise. Even more so once she had met Jake. It was their special thing that they used to do together. The best part of every day.

She would never get to do that with him again.

She had begun to cry at the thought. Irritated by the wetness in her eyes as she glared at the rising sun as if God himself was mocking her.

She’d let herself succumb. Sulking for a long while before she felt it was probably time to go.

As she had straightened her borrowed dress, she had sworn she’d heard the sound of hooves. She’d ducked down instantly. Flattening herself against the wall and holding her breath as the gentle thud of boots on dirt was heard across the way.

She was definitely not alone.

She liked to think herself a strong woman. Not one to ever back down from a fight. But that was before the O’driscols. She hated herself for it. The way her hand trembled against her mouth as she tried to even her stuttered breathing. The sweat on her brow. The dryness of her throat.

Crash.

Sadie jumped to her feet at the sound. Ready to make a run for it but stopping in her tracks at the sound of a scream. At first she’d thought her company to be hurt but as she listened to the crashing and smashing coming from the building across the road she realised suddenly that this place was not only heaven to her.

She crept along the wall, keeping herself down until she reached a spot where some of the planks were missing and she was able to peak outside without exposing herself.

She felt herself stiffen as she recognised the figure causing havoc inside the other building. The burnt-out wall facing directly towards her and giving her a clear view of her company.

“Abigail’s husband.” She mumbled to herself curiously, watching as John held a chair by the leg and smashed it against the wall to rid himself of everything but the limb. Taking the leg and twirling it like a weapon before smashing it against one of the support poles for the upper level.

Sadie raised her brows, feeling somewhat responsible for his safety as she debated calling out. Wondered if he knew that losing that pole would take out the whole building. Collapsing it on top of him and surely killing him in the process.

Perhaps that was the point.

As she debated revealing her position the decision was made for her. John slowly stepping back away from the wall and dumping the chair leg by his side. She watched as he slumped against the wall. Head on his knees as he caught his breath.

She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness for this man she’d never met. Feeling she knew in the moment almost exactly how he was feeling. Having sat in that exact spot herself many times since they’d made camp.

She was surprised to see him jump up so quickly. Walking to his horse and grabbing out what appeared to be a pencil and paper before returning to the front of the building and sitting down again.

She watched on in fascination as he began to write. Scribbling his words out after a few minutes and continuing on. Stopping after a moment more and pulling the paper from the pad. Crumpling it and throwing it behind him without a care for where it landed.

This continued for several more minutes. Sadie feeling as though she was intruding on a profoundly private moment but unable to look away as the scowl on John’s face deepened with every piece of paper he discarded. 

After another couple of minutes he seemed to calm. His pencil moving in a flow, scratching at the paper quick and concise. She guessed he had finally found the words he wanted to say.

To her continued surprise he placed the pencil beside him and looked over what he had written. Taking a second to think on it before angrily ripping the paper from the pad and flinging the entire pad across the road towards her building in frustration.

She ducked down out of instinct as it landed a few metres below her. Taking a second to rationalise that he had not even looked where he had thrown it before popping back up and feeling her stomach drop.

John has his head in his hands. Shoulders shaking under the weight of his emotions. She felt her heart break for him. He’d seemed so stoic the few times they had passed one another by. If it weren’t for the way she had seen him break in Colter she would have assumed he was the type of man to bottle everything up for years at a time.

Perhaps he was.

She thought to herself as she watched on, sadness radiating from him in the way he slumped forwards. Looking truly defeated. Maybe he _was_ the kind of man to bottle it all up.

Perhaps _this_ was his breaking point.

Sadie frowned as John suddenly startled. Scrambling to wipe at his face and to her surprise, grabbing at the pieces of paper he had crumbled. Stuffing them inside a crack in the wall as he jumped up, still hurriedly wiping at his face.

She jumped involuntarily at the sound of hooves. Unable to stop her panic response as she flattened herself against the wall once more. Realsing that must be what had started John. She listened for gunfire. Terrified of an O’Driscol ambush. But when it did not come and the sound of murmured voices travelled to her, she realised that John obviously knew their visitor. 

She popped her head back up once more and looked over the husky man that John was walking with back towards his horse.

“Arthur.” She whispered to herself. Watching as the men both mounted their horses and trotted back towards the camp.

She waited until they were out of sight. The sounds of their horses long gone before she felt it safe to slip out of her hiding place. Jumping down from the second story with ease and landing on the broken desk that she had used to climb up there in the first place.

In retrospect she was lucky John had not chosen that building. God forbid she break her ankle jumping from the second story because he’d moved the desk.

She walked towards the discarded notepad. Picking it up and flicking through it. Stopping on a few crudely drawn animals and smiling to herself at his effort. Otherwise, it was pretty much empty. He wouldn’t miss it.

She stuffed it into her pocket. Continuing to where John had been sitting and looking around her once before running her hand along the wall. Spying the crack she had seen him stuff the paper into, she pulled out the crumbled pieces. Straightening them out and looking for the one he had written last. Finding it and beginning to read.

Her face fell, emotion welling in her chest as she looked over his heart laid bare.

She slipped it into her pocket alongside the notebook. Unsure what her next move was. But knowing deep down she would never feel right if she ignored this sweet man’s plea.

~~

Arthur tried his best to ignore the red rims around John’s swollen eyes as he approached the younger man. Knowing full well that he had tried to get away from camp for his own privacy and feeling guilty for intruding.

He had been so unkind to John of late and he’d had it rough. Arthur wasn’t sure how he’d handle having half his face scratched up like that. But it pained him to admit that he probably wouldn’t handle it with more grace than John had.

“Hey.” He said simply as he approached. John nodded in response, not trusting himself to speak as he waited to hear what the older man had to say. “Dutch wants you.” Arthur continued after a long moment. Watching as John nodded tersely once more.

Taking a step towards Arthur and then pushing past him to move towards Old Boy.

“What for?” He asked as the older man turned to follow him. Hands on his gun belt as he sensed hostility in the younger. 

“Not sure.” Arthur said honestly, stopping in his place as they reached John’s horse and frowning as the younger turned to him before mounting. 

“How’d you find me?” He asked, irritated. 

“Was ‘bout to ride out to look for you but saw Old Boy from the trail as I was leaving.” Arthur explained, with a shrug. Not breaking eye contact as John narrowed his brown orbs.

Sounded like a lie.

“What you doin’ down here anyway?” Arthur asked after a moment of silence. “Don’t seem like you to voluntarily skip out on chores.” He added sarcastically, making John scowl.

“Not your beeswax Morgan. Mind it.” John spat crossly. Grabbing hold of Old Boy’s mane to pull himself up but stopping as he felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder.

The older man was a lot closer than he had been a second ago. Something akin to concern in his eyes as he looked John over slowly.

“You weren’t… smokin’... was you?” He asked softly, making John huff indignantly, his cheeks heating involuntarily at the implication. 

“No.” He answered gruffly, pushing Arthur’s hand from his shoulder and pulling himself up onto the horses back.

He hated that Arthur knew his secret. Hated that the man flip flopped from condescending teasing to what seemed like genuine concern in a matter of seconds. Never quite giving John the feeling that he could confide in the other. Fearing anything he said would be used against him later as a means to make him look the fool in front of others.

He was honestly surprised that between Arthur and Grimshaw the whole camp didn’t know by now. If he was being honest he was even more surprised that neither of them had told Abigail.

“What does Dutch want again?” John asked as Arthur mounted his mare and rode up by his side. Not really caring if Arthur truly didn’t know, just trying his best to change the subject.

“He didn’t say.” Arthur answered earnestly as John spurred Old Boy onwards and they trotted back towards the camp in an uneasy silence.

~~

John had been surprised when Dutch had ushered him into his tent and closed the door. For a second being reminded of his younger self. Being scolded for something out of the view of the other campers to save Dutch the trouble of explaining his ways and why John should follow them.

John wondered fleetingly if even Dutch understood his own ways. It seemed to John that they had rules in place that were never to be broken…

By anyone but Dutch that is.

The older man turned to John and gestured for him to sit on a chair by his bedside. John obliged, if only to make whatever the hell this was go swifter.

He knew the chair was not for his comfort. Far from it. As Dutch used John’s seated position as a platform to lord over the taller man as he said his piece.

John was sure Dutch had been right pissed the day he’d announced that he was finally taller than him. Having adopted such a scraggly little mutt he could have never fathomed that one day the gangly little thing would not only match his stature but surpass it. 

John himself had been sure he would never grow after a solid year of being fed without much of a change. But hitting puberty had skyrocketed him to almost as tall as Arthur at the tender age of 15. Something Dutch loathed. John was careful not to mention it again after the first time. Subconsciously hunching when their leader was around for fear of his food being taken away.

Dutch liked to be the biggest man in the room and with Arthur built like a brick shithouse and John closely following him in height, they both outmatched him in ways that aggravated him to no end.

John watched from his place on the chair as the older man paced back and forth as though he was thinking of how to broach his subject. John knowing full well that whatever the hell he had to say had been fully rehearsed and the pacing was just for show. For his benefit, so he didn’t realise that whatever it was their Leader was stewing on had been on his mind for days.

“What is it Dutch?” He asked frankly, a little more aggressive than he’d meant to as the other man had paced by him for the fifth time. He had been expecting repercussions from talking back to the man earlier but if he was honest he hadn’t expected them this soon. Dutch was usually the type of person to take this time. Let you think that you’d gotten away with it before slyly reminding you that you’d ‘forgotten’ to clean the outhouse a couple of days later. 

If Dutch was surprised or annoyed by the way he’d been spoken to, he didn’t show it. Turning to John and finally placing his hands on his hips as she began his well thought out monologue.

“Son.” He started, staring up at the wall behind John and missing the way the younger rolled his eyes at the term of endearment. “You’ve had a bad couple of weeks.” He said, uncharacteristically gentle before the kindness was ripped from his tone as quickly as it had arrived. “But we’ve all got to do our bit.” He continued, making John sigh.

He’d known this was coming. He’d been waiting for it. Fretting about it. Lying awake at night and trying to calm his racing heart as he struggled to think of anything to make them money.

“Feeding twenty odd mouths ain’t free John.” Dutch chided lightly, making the younger narrow his eyes as he refused to meet Dutch’s gaze. “And you, well son you got three mouths to feed. We all need to do our bit to keep this camp afloat. We need money. We need food.” Dutch ranted, pointing to each of his fingers as he rattled off their current needs before moving onto their future ones. John nodded tiredly, not really listening as Dutch had already made his point a minute after he entered the tent. 

“We will get out of this mess, John. We will return to a comfortable equilibrium and when we do, we will need money.” Dutch finished, seemed irritated at John’s blatant boredom. John finally looked up to meet the older man’s gaze as he finished his speech. Not surprised to see his lips forming a thin line as he looked to John with what the younger could only assume was a mix of pity and disgust. “You…” Dutch said dangerously. “Have had enough down time. You need to get your ass out there and make us some damn money. Start taking this seriously John.” He paused, watching as John fought the urge to cower under his gaze. He refused to show weakness. Didn’t rise to the threat and it pissed Dutch off to no end. “Jackie, needs you to take this seriously John.” Dutch snarled, making John’s blood run cold.

“Yes Dutch.” He replied obediently. Happy that his voice didn’t waver as he mulled over Dutch’s last sentence. Was that a threat on Jack’s life or just more pestering about his bad parenting.

“Good boy.” Dutch growled, a smile spreading across his face as his demeanour changed like the wind. Clapping John hard on his bad shoulder and making him hiss as he was pulled him from the chair. Dutch speaking some bullshit about being proud of him for taking initiative.

John stared at the worn grass out the front of Dutch’s tent as the older man walked back inside. Leaving him to wonder what the hell this gang was turning into.

He stood there for a long while. Feeling conflicted about the words Dutch had spoken. Pissed off about the lingering threat not just to himself but to Jack of all people. He was just a kid. He didn’t deserve any of this. He deserved better. Period.

After a while he began to move, finding himself walking aimlessly around the camp as the thought about what had been said. Not really paying attention to anyone or anything as he rang his hands together nervously. His anxieties plain for anyone to see as he placed slowly between the two places the horses were tethered. Making sure to give Abigail’s lean-to a wide berth even if it was unconsciously.

“John?” He heard a woman’s voice call his name, looking up from his feet and smiling weakly as he saw Mary-Beth waving to him from the women’s wagons. She was perched atop a packing crate. Her hand reaching out to pat the empty one next to her as he slowly began to move towards her without thinking on it too much.

He was within two meters of her before he started to feel perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. Abigail had scolded him pretty hard for speaking to her during dinner. He didn’t want to endure her wrath again over an innocent conversation.

Although, he rationalised as he continued walking. She didn’t seem to care about anything he had going on anyway and he needed someone to talk to about the thoughts running wild in his head.

That person used to be Arthur.

He thought, as his ass landed heavily on the vacant packing crate and Mary-Beth smiled to him kindly.

“You look like you needed a chat.” She said simply, her eyes sympathetic but her tone not full of pity. Something John admired about her.

He smiled back sadly, feeling the weight on his chest starting to strangle him as he thought about actually having to say any of the things he was thinking out loud.

“I guess…” He began, clearing his throat through the awkwardness. “I guess, I’m startin’ to feel… overwhelmed.” He confessed through gritted teeth. The admission seemingly coming from somewhere deep inside him rather than his rational brain. He hadn’t wanted to say it. But something about the way she looked at him with kind eyes made him feel safe to explore his feelings.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” She replied sadly, placing a comforting hand on his leg as she waited for him to continue. He stared at it blatantly, feeling perhaps he should push it away for Abigail’s sake but not really wanting to for his own. He truly wasn’t interested in her romantically and he didn’t think her to be interested in him that way either. It was a comforting gesture. That of a friend or sister. Not a lover.

“Dutch ain’t actin’ right.” John said softly, surprising even himself with the words. He regretted them instantly, feeling a stab of guilt in his gut at the thought of ever questioning their leader. Despite his quirks and his inability to follow his own rules, he was good to them and he had kept John safe for more than half his life now.

“I know.” Mary-Beth replied, making John’s head shoot up in shock. He locked eyes with hers, shocked by her own admission. “I’m scared John.” She said softly, fear in her voice as she struggled to speak calmly.

He nodded in response, his hand coming to rest atop hers in a feeble attempt at reassurance. 

“I need to find a job.” He said after a moment. The emotion evident in his voice as he took in the fact that it wasn’t just his own wellbeing at stake. Abigail and Jack weren’t the only ones needing protecting. They weren’t the only ones scared of what would happen to them if Dutch made another decision like Blackwater. “We need money.” He said softly, echoing Dutch and squeezing her hand softly before she pulled it away quickly.

He looked at her, thinking maybe he had made her uncomfortable. Surprised to see a look of excitement spreading across her face. He cocked his brows in question.

“I heard about a train.” She whispered excitedly.

~

Arthur Morgan was damn tired after the few weeks he’d had. Running himself half to death to try and keep the camp afloat and still being scolded every damn day for not doing enough.

He’d been hunting, fishing, scavenging, robbing and even debt collecting. 

Despicable work but someone had to do it and he wanted to take that one for the team. Good thing too. He wasn’t sure anyone else in the gang would have had the stomach to beat the shit out of that poor ranch owner like he did.

Except maybe Micah. But perhaps that was saying more about Arthur than it was about that greasy little weasel.

He was exhausted and the work showed no signs of letting up. He was feeling a lot more rundown than usual but he attributed it to the stress of trying to keep everything together. To reassure everyone that things would be alright. 

He just needed to rest a few days once they were safe and he would be right as rain.

His only reprieve had been a little hunting trip he had taken with Hosea and even that almost ended in tragedy. Turns out, that to Arthur’s amusement, Hosea did forget how old he was sometimes.

He leaned down in his saddle, running a gloved hand over his new horse’s mane. She was a friendly mare and he liked her well enough. But she was no Bo. 

Boadicea had passed away not long before the Blackwater job. Arthur had taken a quite a few days to mourn afterwards and the other gang members had been warned in no uncertain terms to leave him be.

He had loved that horse immensely. Boadicea was _the perfect_ horse. Intelligent, loving and fiercely loyal. He was sure he could come to love this horse just as much in time. If he put in the effort.

His new mare, Frankie, whinnied under his touch and shook her head as Arthur cooed in response.

“You’re alright girl.” He purred, giving her a firm pat on the neck as he walked slowly up the trail leading to camp.

As Arthur approached the hitching post he was assaulted by the sound of Abigail’s voice. The shrillness cutting through the evening air and making his blood run cold even as she yelled at someone that was not him. 

Without context Arthur could tell it was John. The poor man cowering slightly at the sheer volume of her voice as she berated him.

Arthur watched as Abigail closed in on him. He’d obviously not been anticipating this chat. He seemed as caught off guard as Arthur had been.

“So is there any point in me trying to get you to act like some kind of Father to the boy?” Abigail asked hotly, hands on her hips as she waited for a reply. “Huh?” She asked mockingly as John stumbled over his words.

“I’m… I’m.” He began, not quite able to form a full sentence as Abigail shook her head at him. 

Classic john, always stuttering and bumbling his way through an argument the same way he did through life.

Arthur thought to himself as he swung his leg off Frankie’s back and tied her to the post.

“Listen Abigail…” John began strong. Arthur looked up from his rope, not content on just listening to John’s point. He wanted to see the other man squirm. “You… You deserve so much more than I can manage.” John said quickly, hands in front of him like he was asking to surrender. “I guess I just don’t know much about fatherin’.” He added with a shrug.

“Oh…” Arthur groaned under his breath, wincing as he waited for Abigail to take John’s point and run with it. “Idiot.” He mumbled with a chuckle. 

He’d learnt his lesson about admitting lack of knowledge to a woman the hard way. Poor John still had so much to learn about keeping women happy. Not that Arthur could really talk. He was thirty six and still hadn’t managed to keep a woman yet.

“Oh it’s real’ easy.” Abigail, remarked snidely. Venom in her voice as she circled John like a shark that had smelt blood.

“What do I do?” John shouted urgently, sounding desperate. Arthur couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the desperation in his brother’s voice. He’d also been pushing him hard to try and be a Father to the boy. Be a good man to Abigail. But he hadn’t ever really given clear instructions. It wasn’t his place. Considering how his own relationships and parenting had turned out.

Arthur felt his heart sink at the thought. Taking a quick moment to mourn before pushing the thought from his mind and focusing back on the juicy fight in front of him.

“Pretty much the exact opposite of what you have been doing!” Abigail shouted, gesturing wildly at John as he rolled his eyes at her.

“Real’ funny.” He said softly. Looking as though he was finished with the conversation already.

“Oh, I ain’t joking.” Abigail spat back making John raise a brow. “Just take that tiny brain of yours and whatever you think is right and proper, do the exact opposite and then, you’ll raise a man!” She shouted sarcastically, her hands rising up like she’d just said the most profound thing.

John stared her down, taking a step towards her and towering over her menacingly. Arthur watched on, ready to jump in if he needed to. John wasn’t in his right mind lately, but he wasn’t about to let him hurt Abigail in anger.

“Just like your Momma did.” John whispered venomously. “Raise a real man, like you.”

Abigail moved faster than Arthur could respond and he silently thanked the Lord that it had gone that way and not the other. He wasn’t sure he would have been fast enough to save Abigail’s face from his fist. But then again, he hadn’t even tried to protect John from her palm.

Abigail’s hand landed squarely on John’s uninjured cheek. The sound of the contact ringing out around them and echoing off the cliff as Arthur cringed at the sight of John being propelled sideways.

He recovered quickly, hands balling into fists as he watched Abigail storm off. Huffing loudly as he searched for a way to release some anger before finally deflating somewhat and letting himself fall to the ground. Leaning back against the trunk of a tree and placing his head in his hands.

Arthur sighed, feeling bad for the kid. He hadn’t exactly been the best friend John could have the last few weeks and considering his circumstances that probably wasn’t fair. But he was just so fucking sick of seeing John take his family for granted.

Arthur had been there. He had lived the life that John was currently living and now he was full of regret for how things could have been. John’s could be different if he’d just swallow his pride. Abigail loved him, Arthur knew she did. But after the talks he had with John a few months before he wasn’t so sure if John knew that too.

The last they’d spoke of Abigail’s affections, John was happy. Boyish in his excitement about that fact that she had declared her love from him. But then all of the sudden he was throwing her stuff out of his tent and screaming at her. 

Arthur had been furious. Not having the context he’d needed to see John’s side he had assumed the worst and put the blame on John. But after their heart to heart by the lake he had realised what had really happened he’d just felt bad for John.

He was a good kid growing up and he didn’t deserve to be lumped with the responsibility of a kid of his own so young. Sure one could argue that anyone out there having unprotected sex is asking for a child. But if Arthur was being honest he wasn’t even sure John slept with Abigail more than once and he’d seen more than one man take her many times in the months leading up to her announcement. 

She truly had no way of knowing if the baby was John’s or not but Abigail had stuck to him like hot glue. Arthur supposed it was due to the little crush John had developed on her. Ultimately it all worked out in her favour. 

John was happy at first too. He’d loved his baby and damn he loved that woman. But things had soon dissolved into bickering and complaints. John had tried his best to keep them afloat. Working extra hard and long to earn his keep and he always made sure Abigail and Jack were clothed and fed. It was a hard time for him but he didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Arthur reminisced. 

But then Abigail had gone back to prostituting herself for extra cash and neglected to tell John that fact. Arthur felt a pang of guilt at the memory. He’d had no idea what she was up to. Being as if John was out on a job Arthur was normally with him. 

Arthur had felt terrible for John at the time. Even going so far as to tell the other man it was okay to leave her. But by leave he meant ‘not date her anymore’. Not ‘leave the gang’. John always was incredibly literal. As much as Arthur still held a grudge over it years later. He did feel a little bad about his wording. 

When John had come back from his year away Arthur had been stunned to see John begging Abigail to take him back. But she, despite being the one to wrong him first, had been adamant that John needed to beg her forgiveness and John kissed her boots willingly. He was so desperately in love with her.

Arthur sighed, leaning himself against the hitching post and folding his arms over his chest as he stared at the pathetic lump wallowing under his tree. 

Arthur was a bad friend, and he knew it. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell John all the reasons why. Perhaps that’s why he was being so damn mean to the kid lately. Pushing him away with teasing and judgement because if they were to return to being close Arthur wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of his secrets. He would be forced to spill his guts to John and the man would surely hate him. Effectively ruining their friendship for good anyway.

Arthur scratched at his beard. Thinking back to John’s year away and what a tumultuous time it had been for him in his own life. It hadn’t been too long before John left that Mary had decided to call off their engagement. He had been understandably heartbroken but did his best to appear unphased in the eyes of the camp. He wasn’t sure he did as well as he’d thought when they had all started giving him a wide berth and ultimately, he had given in to his grief. 

Arthur would never admit it to him, but John had been a godsend in that terrible time. A boy eager to please. Ready and willing to do whatever menial task Arthur asked of him. He had been brought food and drinks in bed more than a few times and sometimes he hadn’t even needed to ask. John had just known.

That was part of the reason Arthur had felt so compelled to bring John at least one meal while he was healing after the wolf attack. To repay the favour if only slightly.

Arthur didn’t remember too much of that time. But he did know that it wasn’t long after he was back on his feet that John had left. Leaving him feeling alone and betrayed. 

Arthur was furious with him for leaving him. The gang. A good woman, even after she did him wrong. 

Once Arthur was certain John wasn’t coming back he lost all sense of loyalty. He felt guilt for it now. Now that John was back and hurting so badly over the ways Abigail had betrayed him in the past. But Arthur hadn’t known John would ever return.

That’s why he’d fallen into Abigail’s bed. It hadn’t taken him long to accept her advances. She had returned to selling herself for money soon after John had left. Although Arthur supposed she never really did quit. 

He had resisted at first out of some blind loyalty to John but after a few weeks of his absence Arthur had found himself sleeping with her regularly.

Sure it was sex at first. Which he had offered to pay for every time. But after the first few weeks it had stopped being about that and more about having someone to share a bed with. 

He’d also felt a sort of lingering responsibility to Jack and it was nice to be able to keep him close while they shared a tent as a family.

John’s tent. 

John’s family.

Arthur had broken it off. Whatever it was. Abigail had seemed hurt but she understood. He didn’t want another relationship after Mary and he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea. 

John had returned eventually and the coward somehow managed to reintegrate himself rather quickly back into the day to day of camp business. It annoyed Arthur that he was being trusted so easily but he hated questioning Dutch.

Then the fighting had started. Day in and day out John and Abigail bickering and keeping the entire camp awake. Arguing about money and food and Jack and everything in between. It had been insufferable. Arthur had stayed out of it for the most part. Keeping a close eye on John only to make sure he was doing right by them. He hadn’t been able to help developing a bit of a soft spot for Abigail after all they’d shared.

He often thought now that perhaps he should have married her while John was gone. Maybe they would have all been better off.

Then John had met Maggie and for the first time in years Arthur had seen him smile. Really smile and Arthur had ruined it.

Blatantly destroyed it and even now he was sure John still had no idea it was him.

Telling Abigail in a drunken rant about John’s intentions with the other woman and causing her to go all out to try and keep her in his sights.

John had been over the moon at her confession of love and Arthur hadn’t had the heart to tell him that she knew about Maggie. That it was probably all a goddamn trick.

He had planned to. But then John had overheard Abigail chatting about it with Karen and found out of his own accord that she knew. Although he never did find out that Arthur was to blame.

Last but not least Arthur had pushed John repeatedly to be a good Father to Jack. Giving him no instruction other than try but then gladly taking up any chance that was offered to him to spend time with the boy instead.

He wasn’t stupid. He had overheard the couple’s argument the day before his fishing trip with Jack. He had heard John resolve to try and yet he had still agreed when Abigail had asked him to take Jack out. Not wanting to disappoint her or Jack and secretly just wanting to spend time with the boy in general.

He regretted never taking his own son fishing and wanted Jack to have that experience or more selfishly he wanted to have that experience.

He had jumped at the idea even knowing that it was probably a ploy to spite John. 

Yep.

He thought to himself. 

I’m a damn terrible friend. 

But perhaps John didn’t need a good friend right now. Maybe he just needed a friend in general. One that would listen to his woes and tell him everything would work itself out.

Arthur pushed himself off the hitching post and started towards the younger man. Head snapping up as Dutch called for him, waving from the entrance of his tent.

He looked between the two of them. John not even having noticed he was there as he was sat with his head still in his hands. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.

Duty called and Arthur veered off his path to John. Greeting Dutch as he reached him and being filled in on the details of Sean’s rescue mission.

John would have to wait.

~

Arthur had spent a long while talking to Dutch about Sean and the plan for his rescue. By the time he had finally left Dutch’s tent John was gone.

Arthur had sighed, resolving to speak to the younger man when he returned. He got himself a bowl of dinner and moved towards the fire. Surprised to see John sitting with some of the other men, Hosea included.

The old man coughed roughly, a wracking cough that shook his bones and John looked to him with concern.

“You okay Hosea?” He asked softly across the fire as Arthur sat beside him.

“Sure.” Hosea replied simply, nodding to Arthur in greeting before turning back to John.

“You keeping yourself out of trouble?” Hosea asked, surely as a means of keeping the conversation away from his illness. 

“I guess.” John answered, shrugging. “I mean, ain’t been eaten or shot in a while.” He said wryly. “Just shouted at and hit by Abigail.” He added bitterly, swallowing his pride.

Arthur pretended to be interested in his food while John spoke. Feeling like perhaps he should leave John alone to vent to Hosea but realised none of the others would afford him that courtesy anyway.

“Sure.” Hosea replied shortly, making John frown. The fact that the men in the camp were all so comfortable with Abigail’s physical attacks hurt him inside. Although he’d never dare speak of it to any of them. Not wanting to be called a pussy for not being able to take a little slap.

He knew he could take a punch if he needed to. In fact, he frequently encouraged it. But something about being physically assaulted by a person that was supposed to love him stabbed at him deep inside in a way that her cruel words didn’t.

The disregard for him and whether or not he was hurting.

“I just don’t understand women I guess.” He said softly, as a way to save face. Hosea scoffed at this reply, shaking his head and chuckling as he replied. 

“Ain’t so hard, you know it. You ain’t a fool till you start pretending to be one.” He snickered, gesturing across the fire at Arthur and making John roll his eyes. “Ain’t that so Arthur?” He asked, making the other man look up from the fire in feigned surprise.

Dammit.

Arthur thought to himself as he turned to John, with a shrug. If he offered anything other than a gentle ribbing John would wonder what was up.

“Seems to me he does a good job of playing the fool.” He exclaimed, eliciting a chuckle from Hosea as Arthur turned back to his food. Feeling John tense beside him.

“Thank you, both of you.” John spat sarcastically, shaking his head at the lot of them and rising to his feet.

Arthur watched him go. A small part of him feeling that perhaps he should follow. That now was a good time to talk to him. But he didn’t. Not able to stomach the sadness radiating from the kid any longer and not wanting to add to it with his own confessions.

~

Sean Macguire was a loud-mouthed little shit. But John had certainly missed his presence around the fire well enough to be excited by his return.

Arthur had been gone for two long days and John had been irritated to find out why. He had wanted to talk to the older man about the train Mary-Beth had filled him in on. Having been excited at the prospect of bringing a real job to the table. He had been dying to speak to Arthur. Knowing it was not something he could pull off alone.

Finding out the Arthur had been sent alone with Charles and Javier to rescue Sean had taken the wind out of his sails. The implication that he was still too weak to help angered him. Even more so after Dutch was on his ass to find a job.

He could have been a part of it. His leg was only twinging of late and although his face still stung it didn’t bother him enough to keep him off his feet.

When Arthur had rode back into camp a little behind the other boys John had cornered him almost instantly. Anxious to get the plan for the train down as it was going to be coming down through Scarlet Meadows in only a few more days.

Arthur had dismissed him. Telling him to lighten up and enjoy the party. Making John’s blood boil as he stomped away from the idiot. Of course Arthur didn’t want to hear of a new job. He had not long finished his previous and he was not under the same pressure John was to go back to earning his keep.

Not just his keep. Abigail and Jack’s too. John was quietly terrified after his talk with Dutch that his sympathy was on the verge of running out. Being fed several meals a day despite his lack of contribution only happened when he had been through something traumatic. He had already gone back to starving himself to make sure there was enough food for Jack. Already only eating every third meal. Just enough to keep up his strength.

He knew deep down there was no way in hell he could keep working himself to the bone to earn enough money to feed the three of them. Eating less than anyone else in camp and working three times as hard. Something was bound to come undone.

It had been fine when Jack was a baby and eating from the breast. But as a child he was another mouth to feed. John had been doing the work of three since he’d returned from his year away and if he was being honest. The break was nice.

But as he had begun to feel the pressure of his past returned tenfold. He was running out of time.

He slumped himself down by the fire. A scowl on his lips as he stared at the flames and stewed over Arthur’s dismissal. A beer was placed in his hand by one of the men and he was asked again to lighten up. To be happy for Sean’s return.

John sighed, taking a sip of the liquid to sate the other’s insistence that he relax. Screwing his face up as the hot beer slid its way down his throat and a familiar warmth spread through his chest.

He supposed perhaps he could have a few.

~~

A few turned into a lot fairly quickly. Downing one beer to match the excitement in the air and the flow of the party turned into downing shots of whiskey to keep up with the others. Eventually John forwent the shot glass and drank straight from the bottle. 

The night had whizzed by in an instant and before he knew it, he was sitting alone at a table with Bill Williamson of all people. It had to be at least 3am and most of the other men had retired long before.

If John was honest, he’d known he should stop drinking some hours before. But all the pent-up pain he’d been feeling for weeks on end had threatened to spill out at the fire in front of the others after he’d had enough drink to loosen his tongue. For the sake of his dignity he had kept his mouth too busy to talk by swigging from the bottle every time he felt like chiming in.

He’d embarrassed himself enough the last time he’d dared speak in front of a group.

Although… He hadn’t heard a word from Abigail over his rant about drowning her. So he must have gotten away with it.

At least there’s that.

He thought as his eyes drooped and the whole world spun.

“Hey, no, hey.” Bill drawled as he built himself up to say something important. “Hey, hey.” Bill continued as John looked to him with blurry eyes. Chuckling at the way the other man fumbled over his words. “Funny thing is John.” He began confidently. “I… cause, I…” He stuttered, breaking out into a sudden fit of laughter. “Funny thing is, I forgot what I was gonna’ say.” He laughed, making John follow suit.

“You’re right, that is funny.” John slurred, leaning back in his chair and almost toppling before grabbing onto the table and pulling himself back up.

“People think you’re Dutch’s pet.” Bill said after a moment of stifled giggling. 

“Pet?” John asked incredulously, not quite sure he had heard right. 

“Yep.” Bill stated confidently, slamming his hand down on the table to make his point. “Like a dog or a cat.” He continued. “You’re his favourite.” He mocked, making John frown through his haze.

If only _people_ knew the truth.

“People care about that?” He asked after a second, unsure what the hell else to say to something that seemed to be such blatant bullshit. He wondered what would happen if people ever found out who the true Dutch was. The Dutch that threatened John’s Goddamn son over his Daddy not making enough money.

“Some do.” Bill agreed eagerly. “Well, I do.” He admitted, fumbling with his words again. “Or not me.” He added, clearly trying back pedal. John gazed in his direction, not sure what the hell to say as he watched the older man stumble. He clearly cared a whole lot more about Dutch than John did at this point in time.

The thought saddened him. 

He was distracted from Bill’s ramblings momentarily as Arthur slipped into the seat next to him. Seeming to come out of nowhere and nodding at the pair as he sipped slowly at a beer. He didn’t seem drunk at all in comparison to Bill. 

“Hey, hey look.” Bill began, gesturing to John as he tried to change the subject. “It’s like.. I love liquor.” He paused. “But liquor don’t love me.” He finished, staring at John until the younger man spoke.

John burst out into a fit of laughter. His drunken mind completely missing Bill’s point as he agreed readily.

“I know what you mean!” He exclaimed, talking about the drink as Arthur rolled his eyes at the two of them.

Idiots.

John and Bill laughed together for a long while. Giggling like idiots at nothing in particular before a shadowy figure appeared behind Arthur and caught their attention.

John startled at the appearance of Abigail. Sitting up straight and trying to act collected as she feigned laughter along with Bill.

She placed her hands on her hips, looking John over with such disdain and making the smile drop from his face.

“Pathetic!” She shouted, leaning forwards to make her point. “Genuinely pathetic.” She snapped, turning on her heel and storming off. John watched her go for a moment, feeling a mixture of sadness and anger at her accusation. He had been enjoying himself for once before she appeared. Turning up just to ruffle his damn feathers as usual.

He leaned back in his chair, holding out an arm and calling to her sarcastically.

“Come here, my sweet!” He shouted, scrambling to hold himself up once more as he watched her retreating back. He pulled himself back to the table. Looking to Bill for a long moment before sighing. “Damn.” A small smile on his lips as the laughter from before came flooding back.

The two men dissolving into fits of giggles as John pushed himself away from the table.

“Now she really hates me, Arthur.” John laughed, slapping his hand on the table for emphasis and ignoring the blank look on the other man’s face as he stumbled away from them booth.

He wasn’t sure exactly what his plan was. Swaying as he followed in Abigail’s footsteps. His arm bumping into a tent post as he walked past where Hosea was trying to sleep. The old man grumbled at the jostle of his tent. Causing John to stifle another fit of laughter as he stumbled towards Abigail’s back.

“Darlin’.” He began as he reached her, annoyed by her lack of attention as he tried to place a hand on her waist and had it shoved away. He stumbled, not realising how heavily he had leaned on her until the support was gone.

“Don’t darlin’ me you rat bastard.” Abigail whispered harshly, making him roll his eyes as he stood next to her silently. He had thought that she wanted to speak with him. Even if it was just to scold him. He was suddenly hungry for her attention. 

Ravenous.

“Come on.” John whispered, his heart on his sleeve as he tried once more to place a hand on her waist. “Don’t you wanna’ tell me what a piece of shit I am?” He asked teasingly, surprised when she didn’t bat him away. He curled his hand against her side, pulling her against him with one swift motion as he continued. “Wanna, tell me how bad of a Father I am?” He asked, ignoring the way she tensed at his closeness. 

“Let me go John.” She mumbled angrily, pushing at his chest with both of her hands as he held her in place effortlessly.

“No.” John whispered playfully, kissing her cheek softly and pulling back only long enough to breath in her scent before kissing along her jaw and down her neck.

“John. Let me go.” Abigail said a little more forcefully, ignoring the way her voice wavered as he pulled her even closer in protest.

“Why do you hate me so fucking much?” John asked, a hushed whisper in her ear as he rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes momentarily. “Stop pushing me away.” He demanded. His meaning both emotionally and physically as she struggled against his arms.

“Let me go.” She tried again, angered by the fear in her voice as he continued to hold her tight.

“The lady’s asked you to stop John.” A gruff voice interrupted their private moment and suddenly Abigail was free. Straightening her dress and trying to act unphased as she eyed the hand Arthur had clamped firmly against John’s bicep.

John stared at her through watery eyes, ignoring the pain in his arm from Arthur’s iron grip as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

Abigail watched him for a moment, her eyes darting from his misty orbs to the mark on his cheek from where she had slapped him the day before. She felt guilt bubble in her chest as John looked away from her, distracted by Arthur scolding him for not accepting Abigail’s rejection.

She knew logically that John wouldn’t hurt her. He was just a sloppy drunk. But being restrained activated her fight or flight and if in a pinch she was prepared to do both.

“Thank you Arthur.” She interrupted suddenly, making the older man turn to her with a look of concern. “I’m okay.” She assured, gesturing with her head for him to leave so she could speak to John in private. Arthur narrowed his eyes sceptically but let go of John none the less. Shoving the younger man slightly as he released his grip.

“I won’t be far away.” He warned, making John ruffle at the accusation.

“Go, Arthur.” Abigail said gently, sensing an impending argument and trying to circumvent it. Arthur nodded, walking very slowly away from the scene and coming to a stop not too far away. Eyes on Abigail as she sighed at his persistence.

John stood dumbly in front of her. Looking at the ground as he felt something warm touch his marred cheek.

He hadn’t meant to scare her. He was just so damn lonesome.

“Go to bed John.” Abigail said softly, locking eyes with his and looking away just as his tears began to spill over. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

John nodded, shoving her hand away to prevent his tears rolling over it. Not wanting her to see his weakness as he slunk away from her towards his tent.

He pushed the door aside, too drunk to remember that he had left it up earlier in the day. Slumping down on his bed and rubbing at his face irately. 

The tears kept coming long after the drink had begun to wear off. He rubbed his face against his pillow as he turned onto his side. Trying his best to ignore the uncomfortable wetness of his mattress and the lingering smell of sex in the air.

~~

His heartbeat was deafening.

It thundered in his head as he was forced to open his eyes against the brightness of the day. Squinting even in the darkness of his tent as he let out a small whine at the pain that threatened to overtake him.

“Jesus.” John croaked, holding his palm to his forehead as he tried desperately to remember why he felt so dreadful.

He swallowed back a wave of nausea, breathing steadily out of his mouth as he willed back the bile rising in his throat. 

Once his stomach had settled somewhat he felt the need to move. Having passed out in one position and quite obviously staying that way all night. One of his arms was numb from being trapped underneath him and the other was heavy and sore when he moved it. He couldn’t remember why.

Sitting slowly and willing away another wave of nausea he forced himself to put on his boots. He desperately needed some water. Besides knowing it would help his handover in the end, his throat was so raw it hurt to breath. 

He pushed open the entrance of his tent and stumbled weakly towards Pearson’s wagon. Eyes almost fully closed as he squinted against the brightness of the morning.

He reached the wagon after much effort and found himself a bottle full of drinking water. Eyes darting around him quickly before he guzzled most of it. Leaning heavily on the bench as he took laboured breaths and once again tried not to vomit.

“John.” Abigail asked, appearing in front of him and making him roll his eyes.

“What the hell do you want?” He asked gruffly, making her frown. He had no recollection of his despicable behaviour the night before. 

“Don’t be a dick John.” She sighed, looking him over as he took another swig of water and swirled it around inside his mouth before spitting it on the ground. “Attractive.” Abigail remarked sarcastically, making John glower. 

“Not trying to attract you.” He grumbled, suddenly feeling incredibly hot despite the cool of the morning. “‘Scuse me.” He mumbled, pushing past her and wading into the grass. Hunching over and vomiting liquor and water into the dirt.

Abigail sidled up beside him as he was wiping his mouth, hand resting softly on the small of his back as he exhaled shakily.

“Can we talk?” She asked after a long moment of silence. John straightened up, sighing heavily as he turned to look at her tiredly. 

“Always with you and the talkin’.” He whined, frustration slowly taking over at her sudden desire to be close to him despite the obvious distance he was trying to place between them.

“For God’s sake John, you were all for the talking last night.” Abigail griped, removing her hand and placing it on her hip as John looked to her questioningly. “I told you we’d talk today. But if you’re going to be a giant grump I ain’t gonna’ bother.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, referring to her comment on the night before. Flashes of something coming back to him slowly. Being called pathetic. Holding onto her despite her protests and finally being pried free by Arthur of all people. 

He swallowed thickly, another bout of bile threatening to rise in his throat as Abigail made another comment on the matter.

“Wouldn’t take no for an answer but now you expect me to leave you be the first time you ask?” She chuckled incredulously. “Classy John.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.” He lied, ignoring the shame spreading white hot across his entire body. He refused to acknowledge what she said. He was better than that. Or at least, he thought he was.

“Will you two pipe down!” Susan’s piercing voice erupted from the tree line, startling them both as they turned to her in shock. “People are sleeping!” She chided, gesturing behind her at the quiet camp. “An’ those of us that ain’t are _very_ hung over.” She added, stressing the very as she gestured towards John for him to follow her. “You’re a mess John. Come and wash up.” 

“Gladly.” John replied, moving towards her outstretched hand and wincing as it clamped down on his arm.

Abigail watched them go. Huffing out a frustrated breath as she turned to look out over the cliffside. She leaned herself against the nearest tree. Hands running over her face before she physically growled in frustration.

“Goddammit!” She exclaimed quietly, kicking at the dirt under her boot and folding her arms across her chest.

She’d known it would be a risk to try and talk to John first thing in the morning after a long night of drinking. But she couldn’t wait. Sitting in her lean-to and ringing her hands together nervously as she stared at the opening of his tent. Waiting anxiously for him to emerge so she could confront him about his feelings.

She hadn’t slept well after her argument with John the night before. Her fight or flight had been activated when he’d refused to let her go. Causing adrenaline to spike inside her brain and keeping her awake. Unable to do much but toss and turn while her brain was on high alert. Even if she was in the company of friends and family. Even if her assailant had just been her stupid, drunk husband. Her body didn’t know that.

Rising early before the rest of the gang. She had taken it upon herself to start coffee for everyone. Taking a cup of the freshly brewed drink and returning to her lean-to to think about the night before.

A figure appeared next to her as she thought and she’d looked up to see Sadie standing not too far in front of her.

“Mornin’ Abigail.” She smiled, gesturing towards the empty space beside the other woman. “Mind if I sit?” She asked sheepishly. Abigail moved over instantly, making a little more room than was necessary for the woman that was overall a little smaller than herself in stature.

“Course not.” She replied happily as Sadie took the seat and rested her forearms on her knees. Abigail had been glad for Sadie’s company the last few weeks. Even if she was a woman in mourning. The times where the poor thing wasn’t crying, she always had interesting stories to tell. They had gotten to know each other quite well in a short span of time and Abigail was glad to feel as though she had finally made a friend in the gang. “What’re you doin’ up so early?” Abigail asked softly, turning to her friend and smiling kindly at the coy look on her face.

“Well, actually. I was hoping to chat to you.” Sadie answered quietly, taking in the deep frown on Abigail’s face as she registered the serious tone in her friend’s voice.

“Alright.” She replied simply, placing both hands on her mug of coffee and staring into it as she waited for the other woman to begin talking.

“Thank you, Abigail.” The blonde said after a long moment of silence. “For everything the last few weeks.” 

Abigail nodded in reply, feeling there was more to come and staying quiet so Sadie could continue.

“I…” Sadie hesitated, clearing her throat and pushing onwards. “Look I was going to stay out of it. Being as none of it is my business.” She began, deepening Abigail’s frown. “But I saw something that I think you need to know about.”

Abigail flashed back to the present. Staring out over the cliffside and tensing her jaw. She had not been prepared for what Sadie had to tell her.

The blonde had explained her trip to Lipani some days earlier. What she had witnessed of John letting out his frustrations and finally, how she had seen him cry.

Abigail had been in shock at the admission. She’d only ever really seeing John show emotion like that unprompted once or twice in the past and she didn’t like the thought of seeing it again.

Sadie had retold of John’s plight as he scribbled frantically in his notepad. Nothing he wrote seeming to pass the test of his own scrutiny as he crumpled the pages and began again.

Abigail felt her eyes well as she recalled Sadie pulling a scuffed-up piece of paper from her coat.

“I think you need to read this.” She’d said softly, handing it to Abigail and watching as the younger woman had skimmed over it with wide eyes. Recognising John’s loose excuse for handwriting from all the love notes he had written her over the years even knowing she could not read them.

“I can’t read.” She had admitted eventually, her throat dry as she handed the page back to Sadie.

“I can read it to you if you like.” The blonde had offered. “Or, perhaps you could take it to John for him to read you.” She added, Abigail shaking her head frantically before the other had even finished her sentence.

“No, you. Please.” She had breathed, licking her lips and waiting with bated breath for Sadie to start.

Abigail’s eyes had welled up involuntarily as Sadie had read the heartfelt words. John’s heart laid bare for her to see in a way she’d never known previously.

The emotion in his chosen words shone through even as Sadie read them with a neutral tone. Not wanting to put implied inflections where there were none or give Abigail the wrong idea about the intention of a word by saying it with a tone John himself hadn’t attached to it. 

Abigail had listened diligently. Feeling an overwhelming sadness taking over her body as she had begun to weep.

John Marston was a lot of things. But she’d never thought him a romantic.

She supposed that was not for his lack of trying. She had been inundated with gifts in the first few years of their coupling. Sweets, flowers, clothes and shoes. Pretty much anything she could have asked for he would buy for her without hesitation and the things she didn’t ask for he just provided of his own volition. 

Maybe he had always been a romantic.

Sadie had finished reading, handing the paper to Abigail and smiling kindly as the other woman took it all in.

“I ain’t one to judge a situation I know nothin’ about but… I think maybe you should talk to him at least.” She said softly, a hand resting lightly on Abigail’s shoulder before Sadie made to stand.

“Thank you.” Abigail said quietly, not looking up from the crumbled paper in her hand. ‘I… I think I need to be alone now.” She managed, missing the nod of understanding from Sadie as she’d stood and left her to her own devices. 

In the present Abigail wiped at her eyes. Her determination to talk to John about what she had read not yet waning as she turned to scan the camp for his figure.

He was still with Susan. Being forced to wash his face by Pearson’s wagon. The older woman standing vigilantly over him as a protective Mother would her toddler.

Abigail sighed, watching them as she thought. John was like a toddler in a lot of ways. Shoddy with a lot of things he did but the most obvious of all being his lack of ability to take care of himself.

He needed someone there for him twenty-four, seven or he would forget to do the simplest things such as eat and bathe. 

Abigail still had no notion of the fact that John had his reasons for forgoing both of those things. Not eating for the sake of her and Jack and not bathing in front of the others fearing questions about his body and the many scars he harboured under his clothes.

She justified it all in her mind as John just being John. Dumb as rocks and as dull as rusted iron.

She felt bad for him. Watching as Susan pushed his head into the water bucket a little farther and he came up spluttering. He never was very quick on his feet. Always stuttering during their arguments and never quite making his point.

She had been so hard on him the last few years. Especially after the incident in the west with that other woman. His eyes had strayed, and she refused to acknowledge the fact that it had hurt her deeply. Hiding behind the notion that she was still pissed off about being kicked out of his tent instead of telling him what really had her riled up.

She hadn’t even asked the woman’s name. Never confirming with him even once that there had been a woman. Just going off what Arthur had told her that one night as she fretted after John being gone at such a late hour.

Abigail flexed her fingers against her side. Sighing deeply as she decided it was time. 

Time to get it all out in the open. Speak candidly to John about her feelings toward him. The good and the bad. Although she did resolve to focus on the good for fear of losing him. One way or another…

She waited patiently for John to slink back to his tent under Susan’s order to get changed as he smelt disgusting. Giving him a few minutes of privacy to do so before stalking across the camp and pushing her way through the door without knocking. 

“Jesus Christ Abigail!” John exclaimed, scrambling to shove his arms in his shirt as she looked him over, her eyes scanning his protruding ribs. He was so much thinner than he had been the last time she’d seen him topless. The last time she’s thought he was too thin.

He was basically just skin and bone.

She swallowed, eyes focusing in darkened tent, moving from his ribs and resting on the small spots littering his chest and shoulders.

John seemed embarrassed by her intrusion. Shoving the fabric roughly over his shoulders and starting on his buttons without another word. Cheeks heating fiercely as Abigail took a step towards him and reached out towards his wounds. Her hand resting tenderly over the spots on his chest under his shirt as she looked to him with sad eyes.

“What…” She began feebly, unsure what to say. “What are they?” She asked softly, losing her balance as he shoved her away roughly. 

“Leave it alone!” John snapped, his tone serious as she looked to him wistfully. He fidgeted under her gaze. Breathing heavy as she stood her ground and refused to ignore what she had scene.

“You can talk to me-.” She began, feeling dread rise in her stomach as she started to put two and two together.

“Get out!” John shouted, making her jump slightly at the volume. For a fleeting second she thought to obey. Wanting to turn and run, never look back. But she didn’t. Seeing in him something she’d rarely seen before.

Vulnerability.

Vulnerability not caused by sickness or injury. Not aided by alcohol or hunger. 

Abigail took a step closer despite the anger radiating from him. Slowly lifting her hand and placing it once more over his chest. He narrowed his eyes at her. Resisting the urge to shy away from her touch as her other hand came up to rest tenderly on his scarred cheek.

“John.” She said simply, her voice soft and breathy. “Talk to me.” 

John looked to her suspiciously, his hand coming up to rest atop hers on his cheek. He held it there momentarily, before moving it away gently and averting his eyes. He didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t have anything to say to her after how horrible she had been to him the last few days.

She had wanted to break him, and she had. 

He was done.

Abigail sensed his impending departure and in a bid of desperation leaned forwards to kiss him softly. He let her, wanting so desperately to kiss back but resisting the urge out of sheer spite.

Abigail pulled away slowly, the hand on his chest running lightly over the place where she had seen his scars. Comforting and warm and everything John had ever wanted from her.

“I’ve got work to do.” He said weakly, trying his best to sound firm as he stepped away from her touch and gathered his gunbelt and hat.

“John please, listen to me.” She pleaded, fully aware how weak she sounded in that moment and hating herself for it. “It’s important.” She said softly.

“I’m sick of listening to you ‘bout how pathetic I am.” John snapped angrily, flashes of the night before fuelling his anger as he placed his hat on his head. “I got a lead I need to follow up on.” He explained meekly, trying to exit the situation as cordially as possible. “Today.” He said firmly as she opened her mouth to retort.

He pushed past her, leaving her alone and ripping a frustrated growl from her lips.

John would be lying if he said he wasn’t damn curious what exactly Abigail had to say. But he couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t risk riling himself up and getting distracted when he had such an important job to focus on.

The train was coming through tonight. The takings from this one night's work would be enough to sate Dutch’s ire for a couple of months at least. Paying off his, Abigail’s and Jack’s share of the camp bills all in one go. 

This needed to be done right. The plan he had was solid. But he couldn’t do it alone. He desperately needed to get Arthur in on it and he was running out of time.

~~

John was really proud of his plan. It had worked for the most part and they had gotten away with enough money in the end for him to eat without a watchful eye for a couple of weeks. Although they hadn’t taken as much as he would have liked, through no fault of his own. The damn Law had shown up and ruined everything. 

For all the work he’d put into stopping the train he hadn’t taken a moment to think about what would happen if they were apprehended at the crime scene. He couldn’t have predicted it. Not having had to deal with anything of the sort until Blackwater.

But Blackwater was just bad luck. 

That’s what Dutch said anyway…

Regardless, John could eat and he was happy. His stomach was full, properly full of food and alcohol for the first time in a week and he was swimming hazily in an alcohol induced fog. Sipping at his whiskey by the fire and being patted on the back by other men for his brilliant idea.

Abigail tried several times throughout the night to get his attention with varying degrees of urgency. John pushed her away roughly as she tried to take a hold of his arm on her third try. She was mumbling something about talking away from the other men and John had shoved at her hard to get her to let go.

He wanted to celebrate a small victory. Finish celebrating before being brought abruptly back down to earth by her nagging and complaints. 

He didn’t want to talk about what she’d seen that morning either. He’d been trying his best not to think about it. Convincing himself she wasn’t talking about what he thought she was talking about. That the scars he hid under his shirt were still his secret and not something he had to share with her when she was in all honestly the main contributing factor to them existing.

It was late at night when John finally stumbled back to his bed. Nursing a canteen of water in the hopes of circumventing the same vice-like headache he had woken up with the morning before.

Abigail had gone to bed hours earlier and he was quietly thankful. He didn’t have the energy to deal with her anymore.

When John awoke the next morning he slipped out of camp bright and early. Telling the only other member of the gang that seemed to always be awake at sparrow’s fart to give Arthur a message.

Susan had nodded, agreeing to tell Arthur to meet John in Valentine when he awoke.

It was nearly auction day.

~~

He’d nearly died.

Again.

A knife threatening to slit his throat as he stared up at Arthur and begged him to please, kill his captor. 

Arthur had obliged. Shooting three men in quick succession without even fully drawing his pistol. John had felt the arms around his neck loosen, the heavy weight of the dead man pulling him down as well. He had reached for the man’s pistol, grabbing it and shooting Straus’s captor square between the eyes as he fell. An impressive shot if he did say so himself. 

Combat rolling back onto his feet and ducking for cover as Cornwall’s men seemed to register what had just happened and began opening fire. 

They had narrowly escaped with their lives. Running down the streets of Valentine and using an abandoned cart as cover while Straus bitched and whinged about being shot for the first time.

Now, in the present. John sat on the edge of his cot, tending to his new scrapes and bruises from the scuffle in Valentine. Unable to shake the sick feeling in his stomach that his time was nearly up.

He had never been overly scared of death. More scared of dying alone than dying in general. The thought of being shot and left to rot made his mouth uncomfortably dry. Spending his last moments staring at the sky and wishing a comforting hand would hold his as he took his final rasping breath.

Alone.

John shook his head, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to rid himself of the visage. Maybe, if he was lucky he would just get sick like Bessie. Not that he thought her lucky by any stretch of the imagination. But if he had to choose between the way she went or.. Annabelle. He would choose to follow in Bessie’s footsteps in a heartbeat.

He tried to distract himself from the trauma of it all. Searching his tired mind for something else to latch on to and grunting as he remembered his conversation with Arthur as they had rode out of Valentine towards Emerald Ranch earlier in the day.

He hadn’t had time to process it yet. Pushing it to the back of his mind to think about later and not getting that chance as the mission had turned into a shitshow.

John had still been quietly annoyed that Abigail had asked Arthur to take Jack fishing instead of him. He hadn’t really spoken properly to the other man since before that day. But it had been lingering on his mind ever since just why the hell Arthur had agreed to do anything with Jack in the first place when he was always on John’s ass about it.

He should have come to him and explained what Abigail had asked. Given John the chance to take the reins but deep-down John feared that other hadn’t wanted to. That he’d been glad to be given a chance to prove he was a better Father than John.

John had been unable to hold his tongue any longer as Arthur had accused him of always playing games.

“Well I ain’t the one taking Jack on fishing trips.” John had snapped, implying that Arthur was the one playing a game. A dangerous one at that. Trying to weasel John out of his family and take his place.

“No, you ain’t.” Arthur had laughed, promptly turning things around and using John’s words against him. “Besides if you say that boy ain’t yours what’s the difference?” He’d asked gruffly, igniting John’s fury.

“Why are you so interested in my life?” John had shouted, anger clouding his vision. “Don’t you got one of your own?” He asked, implying that Arthur did not and wanted his instead.

“Just do one thing or another.” Arthur said tiredly. “Don’t be two people at once that’s all I’m saying.”

John had been so damn angry. 

“It ain’t that simple!” He’d shouted over the sound of their horse’s thundering hooves. “You know that good as anyone. Same as with you and that girl, what was her name…” John feigned forgetfulness, giving Arthur a second to think of _all_ the women he had let down over the years. “Mary.” John decided, not wanting to bring Eliza or Isaac into the conversation even though it was the perfect example. 

Not only was using them against Arthur in the middle of an argument morally wrong and just downright mean. But John hadn’t been told about them by Arthur himself and he had been sworn to secrecy.

“That was different.” Arthur had argued meekly before abruptly changing the subject. Asking John what the hell he had him doing and finally giving the younger a chance to explain his plan.

John had told him about the sheep. Wondering somewhere in the back of his mind if perhaps he hadn’t needed to mention Isaac for Arthur to get the message. He was pretty damn good at beating himself up. He didn’t always need someone to do it for him.

John sighed, beginning to stand. Placing his medical supplies back in his saddle bag and shoving it aside to take back to Old Boy later. He could hear the bustle in the camp outside and if he was being honest he did not want to be a part of it.

Dutch had ordered everyone to start packing as soon as he’d stepped foot back in camp. Susan had taken the reins and began ordering the women and shouting at the men to get off their asses to help.

He’d heard a few argue weakly that they didn’t even have a new place to go yet but that hadn’t stopped the stubborn Matriarch from forcing everyone to get all their unnecessaries together so that the transition would go smoother when they were ready to move on.

John sighed. He didn’t feel much like packing his stuff but supposed he should get started anyway.

He just wanted to rest. The emotional and physical toll of the last few days had done a number on him and he hated it. Feeling weak and shaky as if he wouldn’t have the reflexes he needed to get himself out of trouble if he was attacked.

His body was still healing even if he tried to pretend that was not that case. He couldn’t deny the ache in his shoulders and the way his bad leg crumbled slightly under his own weight, causing him to limp once more.

He secretly wished that he still had the leeway he’d had when they’d first arrived. Feeling foolish for wishing it away so hard when he’d been bed bound.

It wasn’t the lack of rest that he missed. It was the company.

He had been so damn lonely spending day in and day out inside that tent alone. With more time than he could have ever imagined to just think.

He supposed not much had changed really. He was still sitting alone in his tent right at this very moment. 

Thinking.

Wondering what a new camp would mean for them. Would Abigail assemble her lean-to closer or further away from him than she was now? Perhaps that would be the only way he’d ever get an answer out of her about her damn feelings.

John cocked his head as he thought about the morning before. Suddenly remembering that Abigail had wanted to talk to him and he had fobbed her off. He couldn’t help but wonder what she had wanted to say that was so urgent. Trying again several times that night to get his attention. At least two that he remembered anyway.

Perhaps she’d had a change of heart. An unlikely scenario that had scarred him before. He realised, rolling his eyes as looked to the much more likely option that she had wanted to talk about their relationship so she could end it once and for all.

Either that or she just wanted to do some more harping about Jack. All the while cosying up to Arthur behind the scenes. Making sure his replacement was good and ready to step in the second after she broke his heart.

John swallowed thickly. Licking at his lips and resting his chin in his palms as he stared at his scattered belongings and thought.

He had always been wary of Abigail around Arthur for a reason he could never quite put his finger on. Always had the feeling that she pined after him despite the fact that she had never shown any outward affection towards him. Nor he, her. But still, their friendship made John uneasy and the more Arthur pushed him to do right by her, the more he felt that sick feeling creeping back into his stomach.

Maybe he had been wrong to push Abigail away earlier. Maybe by doing so he had pushed her directly into Arthur’s waiting arms. 

Maybe Arthur wasn’t the friend and confidant John thought him to be. Maybe he was a fucking vulture. Waiting to pick John’s carcass clean and then step into his place like nothing had ever happened.

He needed to talk to Abigail.

~~

The rational part of John’s brain screamed to him that he was being paranoid. Making mountains out of mole hills as he stomped towards Abigail’s lean-to and demanded to talk to her in private.

She’d rolled her eyes as she’d stood and followed him to the tree line where she had first tried to speak to him the day before. She hadn’t been sitting with anyone when he’d walked up on her. He could have just sat down with her if he wanted to talk so badly.

“What is it John?” She asked irritably as they reached their destination and he swung around to face her. His arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face as he answered.

“What did you want?” He asked gruffly. “Yesterday.” He clarified, glaring at her shoes as she placed her hands on her hips.

“This ain’t the mood I want you to be in when I speak to you about it.” Abigail answered honestly. Sensing hostility radiating from his very being and knowing deep down anything she had to say, no matter how positive, would not go down well. 

A silence descended upon then when John refused to speak. An uneasy tension lingering between them as John tried his best to calm himself down amid his rampant paranoia.

He fished in his pocket, pulling out some money and shoving it into Abigail’s hand roughly. She raised her brows, looking at the paper John had given her with confusion as he continued to stare at her boots.

“Made you some money.” He mumbled, fingers flexing against his chest as he crossed his arms once more. “I know you was asking for some to buy Jack new clothes.” He explained.

Abigail looked between him and the money, feeling a deep sense of guilt for the way she had been treating him when it came to how he worked for them. She took a step towards him, gently prying one of his arms free and placing the cash back in his palm. Holding his hand as she spoke.

“Thanks.” She said apologetically. “But I’s already got Jack some clothes. So you keep this.” She explained as John’s eyes shot towards her curiously.

“Where’d you get the money?” He asked quietly. Sharp eyes daring her to lie and for the first time in a long while, she fumbled under his gaze.

“Well.. Ar-Arthur.” She answered softly, jumping as John snatched the money away from her fully and shoved it back in his pocket in one jerky motion.

“Course.” He snapped, his attempt at ignoring that niggling feeling crashing and burning as Arthur returned to the forefront of his mind. “Fucking Arthur!” He shouted before he could help himself, making Abigail cower slightly at his tone. She hadn’t seen him this angry in a while.

“It was only five dollars-” She began, trying to justify the loan but being cut off by more shouting from John.

“Don’t matter if it’s five or a hundred!” He yelled, cheeks flushing at the implication that he could not afford to take care of his family. “You got Arthur giving you money to clothe the kid. You got him taking him fishing. Just what else is Arthur taking care of for you?” He asked boorishly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Abigail shouted back, enraged by the implication. 

“Seems like Arthur’s got everything under control!” John yelled, a crushing hurt spreading through his chest.

“That ain’t true.” Abigail argued weakly. Not sure how to reassure him as he spiralled.

“No, it is.” John said flatly. Tensing his jaw against his emptions. “Forget this…” He said feebly. “I’m done.”

Abigail sighed, watching as he pushed past her.

“Will you stop being so dramatic?” She called out after him, making him turn.

“I don’t know what you fucking want from me Abigail!” He bellowed. “My love ain’t good enough? My money ain’t good enough? My Fatherin’.... Ain’t fucking good enough.” He cried, feeling rather than hearing the hitch in his voice. “I can’t win with you.” He added, softer. Voice full of pain. He was so tired. “If you don’t want me just let me fucking go.” He pleaded wearily, shaking his head.

Anything.

Abigail stared at him in shock. Watching as his expressive eyes welled with tears he refused to let fall.

She wanted to scream at him for implying that she was sleeping with Arthur behind his back. But she also wanted to comfort him and shout that everything was fine. The indecision kept her silent as a war raged on inside her mind between her anger and her empathy.

John bit at is lip an in effort to stop it from trembling. Standing there, feeling like an idiot for way too long before he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. Turning and walking away as she gazed after him in her continued stunned silence.

He walked aimlessly towards the cliffside. Stopping not far from the edge and gazing down at the drop below as his toes twitched inside his boots. Fingers tapping nervously on his thighs as he wondered how much it would hurt to live through a fall like that.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back from the edge. Sitting in the grass and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Hosea was right. He needed to make plans.

Just not… the plans everyone wanted him to make.

~~

Abigail walked back to lean-to, leaving John to sulk at the edge of camp as she collected her thoughts.

She couldn’t believe she felt sorry for the poor sap. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. Didn’t deserve her love. He was an idiot and he deserved to rot in hell for his implications.

She hated that he could get under her skin like that. For a damn fool he seemed an expert at picking threads that would unravel her completely.

Arthur was a sore spot and she hated herself for that. She wondered briefly if John knew more than he was letting on. But she knew Arthur wouldn’t dare spill his guts about something so private.

Not to John anyway.

She wondered if on some level he knew there was something there or if he’d just picked Arthur to bitch about because of the recent fishing trip. If he wanted to complain about other men doing a better job Fathering his child, he could have pointed at any number of the other men. Hosea teaching Jack how to read and Javier showcasing his skills with different weapons. Hell, even Charles had spent some time explaining hunting to Jack and he’d only been with the gang about six months. 

Arthur was different. She supposed. But he was a friend and nothing more.

Now.

He wanted to help her out with the boy much more than John ever did. He’d voluntarily fed him and clothed him for the year John was gone. Checking in constantly to make sure she had everything she needed.

Maybe a little more than just the basic necessities…

She would be lying if she tried to tell herself that there was never anything between them and she hated that fact with a passion. At the time, with John gone for months it had seemed like such a wonderful idea. The notion that perhaps she could be happy with Arthur.

He had been so depressed over his breakup with Mary. He had taken her up on the offer of her services and she had happily obliged. They only slept together a few times and she had never charged him for any of them although he always did offer to pay. Mostly they shared a tent. John’s tent. Under the guise of Arthur wanting to protect the boy. She still wondered sometimes if it was ever actually her that he was interested in or just a warm body.

Considering the fact that John had evicted her and Jack several months earlier and the boy was now sleeping in the open on her lean-to without Arthur’s protection.

She could surmise it was the latter. 

He wanted someone to cling to in his time of need and he’d used Jack as a cover to get close to her.

Despite that, Arthur was a wonderful man. But he was not Jack’s Father and never would be. 

She had thought about pointing to Arthur immediately when asked who had impregnated her. But as she’d never laid with him prior to her pregnancy so he wasn’t one of her options.

She had chosen John, despite her reservations about his immaturity and lack of life experience.

Hell, the poor fool had been a virgin when she’d met him. She had pointed at him without hesitation and in doing so, ripped away any chance at him ever having a life with someone else. She had known it was wrong but at the time she had favoured saving her own hide over his feelings.

He was so deeply infatuated with her that honestly, she didn’t even get the vibe that he minded all that much. Happy to stay dumb and pretend like all was well until she had gone back to whoring in the hopes of bringing in more cash.

She had known that was wrong too. Hiding it from him and squirreling away the money she earned to spend on herself because she felt him not able to provide enough for her to have luxuries.

Things that she wanted. Not things that she needed. He gave her all the things she needed and more. Before Jack was born constantly buying her gifts along with anything else she could ask for. It wasn’t until Jack had stopped eating from the breast that the gifts had stopped coming. Even then he did what he could. Bringing her flowers that he knew she liked or sharing candy he’d looted from a homestead despite his huge, sweet tooth.

Even after he’d come back from his year away he had worked hard to secure her affections once more. He was hungry for her to love him and she pushed him away with ease.

He had been such a sweet boy before she’d ruined him.

She wondered sometimes if he would still be just as sweet these days if she hadn’t hurt him so badly.  
  


Abigail felt herself soften. He _didn’t_ deserve to rot in hell. He deserved… well… so much more than _she_ could manage. 

She licked her lips, letting her jaw untense as she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper she had taken from Sadie.

She stared at it. Not able to read the words but remembering them too well to ignore. John’s chicken scratch handwriting, all too familiar to her. 

She felt her eyes begin to sting as she stared at the note. Swallowing thickly at the memory of John’s emotions poured out onto the page.

He just wanted an answer. A yes or no as to whether he should even keep trying. Regardless of Jack, money or anything else she stressed over. He would do right by the boy. He’d made that much clear. All he wanted to know was, was there any point in continuing to love _her_.

Did she love him, or did she wish she was tied to someone else instead?

Abigail inhaled shakily. She’d loved him for a long while. But the love she knew for him was safe and warm instead of hot and steamy. It was like a comforting hug rather than explosive sex.

It scared her. The notion that she probably could really love him proper. The way he wanted her to.

The way he loved her. 

Admitting it would mean tying her to him forever.

They spoke of themselves as husband and wife, but she had never expected a ring. Never wanted one either. The thought of signing her name on a marriage certificate made her feel nauseated. Essentially singing her life away and promising it to him.

She wanted the option to leave and start over. To make something better of herself. Even if she never would take it. Admitting to John how she really felt was putting the noose around her own neck and giving him control of the lever. 

He could choose to give her heaven and earth, or he could make her life a living hell. Either way she was contracted to stay with him. Punished by law for pursuing another man.

She wasn’t even sure if marriage in front of God was something John wanted either. But it was certainly all or nothing for him when it came to love. He didn’t want to keep loving her if she couldn’t promise to love him back.

Eventually.

She needed to tell him how she felt. Get it out in the open and not just stop at ‘I love you’. She needed to say her piece. Ruining it with a ‘but’ and breaking his heart a little in the hopes of it healing whole again after her admission. 

She shoved the paper back into her pocket. Inhaling a calming breath as she looked around for Jack and spotted him with the others by the fire. He was fine for now. She had time.

She turned around, heading slowly back to the spot where she had left John. Unsurprised to find him nowhere in sight. 

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking around the camp for any sight of him. Figuring maybe he had left to cool off but throwing away that thought when she caught sight of Old Boy still hitched across the way.

She chewed on her cheek, scanning the area again before turning to walk away and being stopped by a quick glint of orange light in her periphery. She looked towards it, realising the light had been emitting from the end of a lit cigarette.

John was hunched in the taller grass closer to the edge of the cliff. Sitting cross legged as he sucked generously on the end of his smoke. 

Abigail took a step towards him, stopping in her tracks as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and moved it towards his body. She furrowed her brows, craning her neck to try and see from her angle and gasping softly as she realised he had pressed it against his collarbone.

Her hand came to her mouth as she connected the dots. The scabs and scars littering John’s torso. She had only seen them for a quick second, but she’d seen enough in her time to know they were burns. She wasn’t sure when they had happened and she had an inkling they were self-inflicted. 

But she’d shoved it down hard with the knowledge that John was already self-conscious of his more prominent scars. Justifying it to herself as another accident rather than facing the reality that he was hurting deep enough to scar himself further.

She had no idea how she hadn’t noticed them earlier. Exhaling a shaky breath as she realised that this could have been going on for months. They hadn’t slept together since before Blackwater. She hadn’t seen him shirtless since that night when she’d first noticed his jutting ribs.

She watched as he shook under his own hand. Gritting his teeth against the burn as he forced his trembling hand to keep the light in place before pulling it away harshly with a simple grunt and taking another drag.

She felt sick to her stomach. Silently begging him to smother the smoke so she didn’t have to watch him hurt himself anymore.

He didn’t.

She observed as he pressed it against his body once more. This time shifting his opened collared shirt out of the way slightly to get to his shoulder. 

Her instinct was to go to him. To run over and slap the cigarette out of his hand like she would if it were Jack playing with something dangerous. But something kept her motionless. Unable to move or shout to stop it. Her stomach churned at the thought of the pain and her head felt dizzy as he finally discarded the smoke and smashed it into the dirt with his palm.

Something about the situation felt extremely private. As though to disturb him would mean the end of him. Her, knowing his shame could be the reason he jumped from the cliff instead of quietly re-joining the others at the fire later.

Her head snapped up suddenly as she heard Jack call for her. John startled at his voice, looking over his shoulder and scanning for the boy as Abigail quickly ducked behind the closest tree. 

Jack called for her again and she silently begged the kid to stop. Not wanting him to give away her position as John shakily got to his feet brushed off the dirt from his pants. 

She was surprised to see him respond to Jack at all. Let alone so quickly after what she had seen. It was as if a switch had gone off in him. Parenting mode activated and his anger, hatred and self-pity flew out the window at the sound of his son’s voice.

Perhaps she really hadn’t given him enough credit for the way he’d been trying. 

Had she truly been so awful to him of late that she couldn’t see where he actually was trying.

Jack had finally stopped calling and she thanked the Lord until she’d managed to duck away from her hiding place and found him with Arthur. 

She’d thanked the man for tending to him. Pretending to have been using the latrine and ushering Jack away under the watchful eyes of John.

She could feel his gaze on her. Guilt bubbling to the surface once more as she finally turned in his direction with the intent of acknowledging him only to catch sight of his back.

Abigail put Jack to bed as quickly as she could. Telling him he would just have to make do with only hearing one story when he complained about her haste.

She would usually sit with him until he fell asleep. Making sure he was safely in dream land before daring to venture away from the lean-to. Wanting him to feel safe in her presence more than she ever wanted to sit at the fire and chat.

But tonight, she had someone else to tend to. John needed her, even if he didn’t know it and she intended to finally make things right.

~~

Abigail’s eyes took a second to adjust as she silently pushed her way into John’s tent. Making out his figure lying on the only cot in the small space, she headed towards it.

Slumping down roughly onto the edge of the bed and causing John to start. He sat up quickly, seeming confused but calming as he realised it was only her.

The glint of gun metal caught her attention as he slyly slipped his pistol back under his pillow.

He had been awake but hadn’t heard her enter. Too lost in his own thoughts to hear her footsteps.

He stared at her for a long while. Having been lying awake for the last half an hour he could see her quite clearly. Her eyes sparkled in the specks of light filtering in from outside.

She looked sad, John realised with a frown. He wondered what this was and it took all of his self-control not to ask. Not wanting to sully a special moment should they ever actually have one. 

On the other hand he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anyway. The look in her eyes told him that she had something important to say and anything she deemed important enough to say without yelling was never good.

They sat in silence for a little longer than was comfortable. Both lost deep in their minds and returning to the uneasy tension that they often felt in one another's presence. 

John shifted uncomfortably as Abigail reached towards him. His fight or flight making him antsy as she placed a hand on either side of him and tried to pull him towards her.

He panicked in her grip, trembling involuntarily at the restriction but relaxing as she softened her grasp and whispered a calming shush. He let himself be pulled forwards into a hug. Unsure what to do with his own arms as she trapped them between the two of them.

He rested his head against her collarbone, looking to the opposite wall of his tent as his let his cheek relax against the skin showing through her opened collar.

She was so warm.

His heart was heavy, and he could feel it all the way up in his throat. Making it hard to swallow as a lump formed there. Blinking away the sting in his eyes as he focused on the small flickers of firelight dancing along the canvas wall.

He was so tired of fighting. Tired of holding out his hand and getting it burned. He’d been doing it for years now. Since the very first time he’d asked her for a date, and she’d rejected him.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever quite recovered from that rejection. Always lingering in the back of his mind. The doubt that she had ever loved him. Ever even _liked_ him. It was suffocating. Like being held underwater and every now and then she would let him up. Whisper a sweet nothing in his ear or give him a chaste kiss and he would take in a sweet breath of air. Only for her to plunge his head back under the surface and hold him there again for another few months.

Drowning him so slowly that eventually he would just stop breathing and maybe he wouldn’t even notice as he faded away.

He was so sick of not knowing what was to become of him. Of them and their little family. Not just Abigail and Jack but the entire gang. Things had been off for weeks now and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was no coming back from the wrongs they’d committed. 

He knew that to be true of himself and Abigail. Forever holding grudges against one another for their wrongs when they themselves had committed their own series of sins each as repugnant as each other’s. 

Their entire relationship was a gigantic tit for tat and John knew deep down that no one would ever win.

One of them would die first, sad and angry. Feeling like they’d lost.

He just wanted things to go back to normal for them. Even if normal was simply her pretending to love him. He could live with that.

If she gave him a small smile when he came back from a job with cash and a quick fuck every now and then as a thank you for providing. It would hurt to know that her heart wasn’t in it, but he could handle it.

He had for years already.

Anything was better than the screaming and the cussing. The lying and the justifying bad behaviour on both sides. 

At least if things went back to normal, he wouldn’t be so alone anymore.

He wouldn’t feel so repulsive and unlovable.

John fought against the lump in his throat. Feeling a strong sense that to cry in this moment would be his undoing. Holding back the emotions he needed to let go of. Not wanting to make a fool of himself again today.

Not wanting her to sense his fragility and change her mind if she wasn’t here to end it.

Abigail removed a hand from his back, bringing it up to stroke his hair. He shivered under her touch. Seeming to relax further into her as she scraped her nails against his scalp absentmindedly. 

He leaned into her willingly. Taking anything she offered greedily.

Abigail had so much she had wanted to say. Entering the tent with such passion and resolve, only for it to all leave her in one swift motion. She knew the gist of what she needed to say. To set things right and stop John from wondering. To sate him and help them move on from all the ugliness.

But it pained her to admit it. 

No matter the actual words that came out of her mouth the result would remain the same. John would have a hard choice to make and she wasn’t sure either of the ones she presented would seem tantalising in the moment.

She wasn’t a damn prized pig and although he loved her, she wasn’t sure he would be able to handle knowingly raising someone else’s child.

Even if she _was_ a prized pig she still wasn’t sure she would be worth it to him. Knowing John to be the stubborn bastard that he was. Maybe he wouldn’t want to give up his potential freedom and the pick of the whole lot just for her.

There would always be someone more beautiful, cunning, curvy, wealthy. Someone he could choose to love that would probably love him back with the kind of passion he wanted. One he didn’t have to consistently ask for. 

She felt John sigh heavily against her chest. Silent. Showing signs of impatience without actually making a sound. It did the trick, bringing her back to the room and forcing her to speak lest he get pissed off and push her away.

Little did she understand how badly he needed the affection she currently offered. A sigh of contentment leaving his lips before he could stop it.

He’d felt her tense. Knowing he had ruined it.

Why couldn’t he just control his stupid body?

“Listen…” Abigail started, stumbling on her words for the first time in a long while. “I… I love you.” She said softly, making John’s ears prick. He shifted slightly in her grasp; his body rigid as he listened for the ‘but’ he knew was coming.

John felt his heart flutter at the words. The breath being sucked out of his lungs as he registered what she had said. But he knew that was not all. The quiet affirmation being stuck in the air as she pulled in a breath to say her piece.

His eyes were watering, and he knew there was no point in trying to stop them anymore. There was a ‘but’ coming to ruin the sentiment. The precious moment he had longed for. Confirming his greatest suspicions that her love for him, if that was what she could call it, was conditional.

Only present if he lived up to her standards and made her happy. Checked all her boxes.

He pushed himself out of her arms during her pause. Wiping at his eyes in the darkness and hoping she didn’t see as she spoke once more.

“But…” Abigail continued, watching as John placed his hands in his lap. Head hung low as he waited. She exhaled shakily, forcing out the words. “I can’t be with you unless you commit to raising Jack as your own. That boy needs a Father John… and I _want_ it to be you.”

There it was.

Knowing deep down for years that Jack could not logically be his son didn’t make it hurt any less. The knowledge that he was right and not just stupid didn’t soften the blow at all.

In fact when he reflected back on this moment in years to come he would realise that it actually made it hurt worse. The fact that he had so readily believed the lie for her sake. Because he was in love with her. Choosing his heart over his brain like the fool everyone knew him to be.

John stared at the grass through his blurry vision. Refusing to make a sound as he let her words settle under his skin. It was both a confession and an apology. One he so desperately needed to hear and never wanted to.

He wondered bitterly if it was also a warning. A reminder of all she could give him he stepped up to the plate and proved himself an outstanding Father. A reminder of all she could take away if he did not agree to go along with her conditions. 

There was a stipulation to her love and John had to decide if the terms were worth the reward.

He needed to make an effort with Jack or she would leave him. Buy into the lie she had been blatantly living for years and stop contradicting her by telling people outright that the kid wasn’t his.

He’d always loved Jack even before he was born. He’d grown quickly attached to the bump where Abigail’s toned belly had previously been. He’d loved that boy even knowing there was a chance he wasn’t his. Pushing Jack away had nearly killed him. 

Two sentences.

He thought cynically. Two damn sentences and she couldn’t be bothered to speak them until now. Years down the line. The words he would have literally killed to hear years earlier hung in the air between them like a bad smell. 

Finally hearing it out loud didn’t take away the sting.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a trick. One long con to keep him around providing long enough for her to get on her feet and run. Rob him blind and leave him with nothing for his efforts except a sore face and a broken heart.

He had been believing for years that she didn’t have to pretend to love him to keep him providing for them. Truly believing that he loved her and the boy enough to keep feeding them out of his pocket even if she didn’t want to be with him. But he had never said that to her. Quietly too terrified that she would jump at the chance to move on from him and he would be the chump working his ass off to pay for her lavish lifestyle that she then shared with another man.

He wasn’t sure now if he actually felt that way or not. Telling himself one thing for years to justify the fact that she never truly said she loved him without an ultimatum attached. To make it okay that in the five years they’d been together that they’d only slept together a handful of times. To get him through the darkest nights when he felt the most scared and alone. 

It was all okay because even if she didn’t truly love him or want to be with him, he could still be happy making her happy.

They wouldn’t be where they were now if she’d told the truth. They could have been happy if she’d just been honest.

It was a load of bullshit.

He decided, swallowing thickly as he looked to her with tired eyes. Letting his tears fall freely as he contemplated his place in her life. 

He was expendable to her.

It wasn’t him that she wanted. It was a provider.

“Who’s is he?” John asked softly voice breaking and giving away his emotional state if she was not already able to see him in the darkness of the tent. 

Abigail didn’t answer for a long time. He began to wonder if she never would. Watching as she wrung her hands nervously in her lap. Contemplating the question and if it was worth an answer.

“I don’t know.” She lied; voice soft as she silently begged him to drop the subject.

John didn’t respond, not sure what else to say as he took in the fact that she truly had just chosen him for lack of a better suitor. 

He felt sick at the notion. He had loved her so completely before they even slept together. Falling for her without ever speaking a word and being so damn sure that they were meant to be. Only to have them bound together by a bald-faced lie. 

He felt so damn naive and stupid.

He felt, rather than saw Abigail move her hand. It brushed softly against the fresh wound on his shoulder and he hissed in response. Sucking in a quick breath as he tried to pretend, he hadn’t made a sound.

She held it there for a long moment. Making his blood run cold as he wondered if she knew. Quietly begging her not to ask. Not to say if she had seen. Just leave it alone. He couldn’t handle that right now. 

Abigail had felt her heart pang at the crack in John’s voice as he had asked his question. Not wanting to answer him for his own sake. She’d lied to protect him. She justified as she placed her hand on his shoulder and heard him hiss in pain.

She stifled her own gasp. Remembering quickly what she had seen at the edge of camp. Feeling it better to keep her hand placed there and seem as though she hadn’t heard him. Again, to protect him.

She felt sick to her own stomach. It churned painfully in the silence that followed. Unsure how John was going to react from here on out. Not really sure she even understood how she wanted him to react. 

She had so many other things she wanted to say to him. So much in that damn letter stuffed in her pocket that she wanted to address. She wanted to scream and shout at him about his assumptions but also hold him close and tell him it would all be okay.

She wanted to have a heart to heart. Get all of her feelings out in open and then leave them there for him to chew on while she returned to her bed. But she had just dropped a lit stick of dynamite on in his lap and she didn’t feel it was right to add kindling to the fire.

They could talk another time about all the things he’d written. But for now John needed time to think about what she had said. Time to mull it over and make a decision about her and Jack and whether or not he wanted to be with them anymore.

If he didn’t, the rest of the conversation meant nothing. There was no point in quibbling over miscommunications and past sins if they weren’t going to stay together anyway.

If he chose to walk away, she would respect that. She loved Jack more than anything or anyone in the world and she would do whatever it took to give him a good life.

But she had tortured John Marston enough for a lifetime and she would let him go if he wanted to leave. She loved him as well. But she had held this situation over his head long enough. Upheld the lie that turned his family against him and ruined his damn life. 

He was only 26. He could start over with someone new. Although she hoped he wouldn’t. If he did, she would leave. Get as far from him and the gang as she could and try to make herself an honest woman. If that plan failed, she would return to her previous profession. Anything for her boy. 

Abigail stood rather suddenly. Watching as John looked to her with a questioning gaze. Not bothering to hide his tears anymore as she sniffed softly. His expression begging her to stay but something inside her screaming to get the fuck out.

She leaned down slowly. The back of her hand running over his scarred cheek and catching briefly on his stitches as she gave him one last once over. Leaning in and kissing his scared lips for the briefest of moments before pulling away.

He closed his eyes as her lips touched his. Wanting to kiss back so dreadfully.

But he didn’t. Letting the hurt well up in his chest as she pulled back.

“Just think about it.” She whispered, taking a step back and returning to the outside. Opening her mouth to a deep breath of the frigid night air.

She raised her hand to straighten her hair. Swiping it out of her face in a quick motion and was surprised to feel her hand come away wet. She hadn’t even realised she’d been crying. The weight of her own words pulling her down to a place she hadn’t been in several years.

Scared and alone.

She stood just outside John’s tent and listened as he began to break down. Screwing her eyes shut against the pain in her own heart as she heard him let go of a choked sob.

She desperately wanted to return to the tent. To pull him into her arms and whisper sweet nothing in his ear until he was calm and satiated. Physically dragging the hurt from his heart and squashing it under her boot until all he felt was love and contentment. 

But she knew that wasn’t something she could not do for him right now.

It was the one small kindness she could not afford him.

Not wanting to sway his decision and cause him to make one he would regret. Telling her through heavy sobs that he wanted to be with her. To be with Jack. Only to grow to resent it later when he was of a sound mind.

Then they would be right back where they started. Bickering and snapping at one another. Sleeping in separate tents and silently seething about something whenever they had a second alone.

He needed to think about it without her present. Needed to make his own decision without her interference so he couldn’t claim that she’d tricked him in the future.

She couldn’t do it. Forcing herself to take that first step, she headed back towards her lean-to. Veering off at the last second and walking towards the cliffside. Slumping herself down heavily onto the rocky ground and crying into her hands.

~~

Just think about it.

She’d said. As if being the one allowed to make the choice changed anything at all for John.

She’d said she loved him. 

Again.

With an ulterior motive.

Again.

John wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He was tired and broken. His entire body ached and he felt as though he would vomit if he opened his mouth to anything but silent screams.

Just think about it.

As if he would ever be able to stop thinking about it. As if he hadn’t already spent the better part of five years thinking about it. 

As if thinking about it would make the decision easier on him when he still had none of the information he wanted or needed to make an informed decision.

If he rejected her, she would probably just move on.

The thought had him dry-retching.

With Arthur on the sidelines ready and waiting to take his place. He felt compelled to run after her. Drop to his knees and beg for her to stay with him. Promise her everything she could ever want and offer her a ring to boot.

But he still feared her rejection. Terrified she would turn him down. Her love meant nothing if she didn’t share it with him. Didn’t nurse him when he was sick or injured and didn’t hold him while he cried.

These last few weeks she had shirked the most basic displays of affection and he couldn’t bring himself to believe that she had meant it when she said she loved him.

People that loved you wanted to take care of you when you were injured and scared. They didn’t make you lie alone in freezing cold cabins for so long that you started to wonder if you’d been abandoned.

They didn’t refuse to bring you food because you snapped at them when you were frightened.

They didn’t slap you across the cheek days after you were back on your feet after having the other cheek torn apart.

If she actually loved him, she would still be there with him in this moment. Comforting him after dropping such a huge truth-bomb and working to explain to him why the hell he should ever choose her.

Why he should trust her again after admitting to such a heinous act.

If she had stayed, he wouldn’t be sobbing, alone in the dark like a child. 

Like himself at ten.

Back when there literally was no one to tell him they loved him. He would have killed for someone to simply hold his hand while he cried. 

He’d never had that before.

He’d never felt like there was anyone in the world he could turn to when he was afraid.

Sad.

Lonely.

He would kill now for _her_ to hold his hand while he cried. But instead, she walked away. Left him like she did in Colter. Walked out on his suffering and expected him to figure it all out on his own.

Despite his wildest dreams coming true. Despite a woman looking him in the eye and telling him that she loved him. He was still fucking alone.

Still suffering.

Still longing for something that she could never give him.

Comfort.

Stability.

He wasn’t sure she would ever be that person he could call home. The one he could come back to without being scared that she had left him. The one he could leave for long periods of work without being frightened she’d find someone better in the interim.

She’d said she wanted him to be Jack’s Father. She’d never said she wanted him.

Saying that she couldn’t be with him if he refused to father the boy. In other words, he wasn’t worth her time unless he took on the fatherly role. Then maybe she could throw him a bone.

That sympathetic smile or that quick fuck. Both things he’d missed. Things he’d pined for.

She was offering it to him. What he’d asked for. Things to simply go back to normal.

He knew he should take it without thinking too much. Hurting his own feelings unnecessarily and causing resent to bubble under the surface when he could just go back to being quietly happy in his shitty circumstances.

Pretending like everything was fine and only being sad sometimes instead of most of the time.

Only feeling alone when he really thought about it instead of constantly.

He wanted to believe he had other options but deep down he knew anything other than accepting her terms would make him miserable.

He knew he wasn’t worth more than someone pretending to love him.

He wasn’t worthy of real love.

Pretend was better than anything he deserved, and he should be grateful for the offer.

That’s what the others would tell him.

He should take it. Run with it and not look back.

At least…

He supposed. As he wiped at the tears irritating his stitches. Breath hitching as the thought caught in throat and stuttered his breathing.

I won’t die alone.

**Author's Note:**

> LONG NOTES! :)
> 
> I hope you guys liked this story! It took me a LONG time and I worked through a tonne of writer’s block to bring it to you. So if you did like it please, please consider letting me know. This story took a lot out of me (it’s very draining to write something so depressing 😅) and while I really do want to continue with this series, if this story isn’t received well I might have to leave it here for my own sanity. No that's not a threat. 😂 I am just a very tired toddler Mum and writing this series can be bloody exhausting. 
> 
> I hope I managed to convey what I wanted to with the ending. The fact that John and Abi still have so much further to go in communicating with one another. But John took the first step with his letter, even if he doesn’t know it and Abigail reciprocated in her own way. I wanted to make it obvious that while John is still just as confused about his place, Abigail truly believes that what she said has made a difference. They are very different people and they crave different things. So while Abigail thinks she is doing what’s best for John it’s not at all what he wanted or needed from her. It will take her time to learn this. But hopefully all the suffering is worth it in the end. 
> 
> Also, it’s a very hard thing to write without making it look like I am constantly contradicting myself in the story. But I hope I did their own separate thoughts on the situation justice. Abigail remembers one thing from her POV and John remembers it differently from his POV. It’s hard to explain that without actively throwing it in the reader’s face with an anime style recap/explanation of why they are both thinking so differently.


End file.
